
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 


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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 


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UNCLE TITUS 


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FROM THE GERMAN- OF JOHANNA SPYRIy 


BY 

LUCY^WHEELOCK. 






BOSTON : 

D. LOTHB.OP AND COMPANY. 

FRANKLIN AND HAWLEY STREETS. 


'is \ 


80 



Copyright, 1886, by 
D. LOTHROP AND COMPANY. 


CONTENTS. 


Chapter Page 

I. Under THE Lindens i 

II. Long, Long Days 13 

III. On the Other Side of the Hedge . . 38 

IV. All Six ........ 64 

V. A Flood 97 

VI. A Terrible Deed 118 

VII. A Wish Realized 138 

VIII. More Riddles 160 

IX. A Missing Link Supplied . . . .176 


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UNCLE TITUS. 


CHAPTER I. 

UNDER THE LINDENS. 

On the beautiful Linden Promenade, at 
the east side of the city of Carlsruhe, 
might have been seen, some time ago, a 
man whose appearance at the same hour 
every afternoon excited great sympathy 
among the pleasure-seekers. He seemed 
very ill, and walked slowly, supporting 
himself by a staff in his right hand, while 
his left rested on the shoulder of a child, 
who was his constant and devoted com- 
panion. Occasionally he lifted his hand. 


2 


Uncle Titus. 


and asked tenderly, “Tell me, my child, 
do I lean too heavily on you?” 

“No, no, indeed, papa!” the child al- 
ways replied, replacing the hand. “ Lean 
harder ; I do not notice it at all.” 

The invalid was Major Falk, who had 
recently come to Carlsruhe. He had for- 
merly lived in Hamburg in a quiet way 
with his daughter Dora and an elderly 
housekeeper. His wife had died soon 
after Dora’s birth, so the child had never 
known her mother. 

She had hardly felt the loss, so tender 
had been her father’s care, until he was 
summoned to join the army during the 
French war. 

He was away a long time ; and, when he 
returned, he was suffering from a wound 
which the physician told him must prove 
fatal. 


Under the Lmdens, 


3 


Major Falk had a step-sister in Carls- 
ruhe who had married a literary man, Mr. 
Titus Ehrenreich; and, when he learned 
the truth in regard to his condition, the 
wounded man decided to remove to Carls- 
ruhe, in order that his twelve-year-old 
daughter might not be quite alone when 
his trouble should become more serious. 

This plan was soon carried out, and he 
was established near his sister in time to 
enjoy the warm spring days during his 
daily walks under the shady lindens. His 
daughter always accompanied him ; and, 
when he tired of walking, they sat together 
on one of the seats under the trees to rest. 

Then he had always something pleasant 
to tell ; and Dora thought nobody could 
talk so charmingly as her father, and was 
firmly convinced that there could not be 
another man in the world so good and 


Uncle Titus. 


4 

noble. She liked best to hear of her 
mother, — of how lovely and cheerful she 
had always been, so that she seemed to 
carry sunshine wherever she went, and 
nobody could see her without loving her. 

In such conversations her father would 
entirely forget time and place, until the 
cool evening air reminded him that it 
grew late, and that they must return to 
the city. In front of one of the tall 
houses in a narrow street he would pause, 
and say, “We must look in on Uncle 
Titus and Aunt Ninette;” and on the 
stairs he would add, “ Now gently, Dora ! 
You know that Uncle Titus writes very 
wise books, and cannot be disturbed ; and 
Aunt Ninette cannot bear any noise, — 
she is not accustomed to it.” So Dora 
would go up on tip-toe, while the Major 
rang very softly. Aunt Ninette usually 


U7tder the Lindens, 5 

opened the door herself, and said, “ Come 
in, dear brother ; but softly, if I may ask 
it. You know my husband is buried in 
his work.” 

You could hardly hear the three as 
they passed through the corridor into the 
sitting-room, which was next to Uncle 
Titus’ study; so they were obliged to 
converse in low tones. 

Major Falk was much less apt to forget 
this than Aunt Ninette herself, especially 
when she was reminded of any of her 
troubles, which was often the case. 

June came, and one could stay out-of- 
doors later in the evening ; but this pleas- 
ure was shortened for our friends by Aunt 
Ninette’s anxiety. 

One warm evening, when the sky was 
gleaming with the sunset light, and over- 
spread with rosy, hazy clouds, Major Falk 


6 


U7icle Titus. 


sat later than usual, looking at the mov- 
ing clouds and the golden sky. 

Dora had been gazing at her father in 
silent wonder, when, overpowered by her 
impression, she exclaimed, — 

“ O papa ! if you could only see your- 
self! You shine like gold. The angels 
in heaven must be like that!” 

Her father smiled. 

“ It will soon be over with me, child ; 
but your mother stands behind the rosy 
clouds always shining like that, and look- 
ing down at us.” 

It was soon over. The man’s face grew 
pale again, and the gold began to fade 
from the sky. 

The Major rose to go, and Dora fol- 
lowed, a little troubled that the beautiful 
glow had vanished so soon. 

“ It will shine upon us again, sometime. 


Under the Lindens, 


7 

Dora,” said her father, to comfort her; 
“and much more beautifully, — when your 
mother and you and I are all together 
again, and then it will never fade away.” 

Aunt Ninette was in the open door 
awaiting their coming very impatiently; 
but she did not speak until she had con- 
ducted them into the room and closed the 
door. 

“ How can you give me such anxiety, 
dear brother 'I ” she complained. “ What 
frightful things I have imagined ! What 
can have happened to make you so late 
And how can you be so careless as to 
stay out after sundown ? You must have 
taken cold, and what will come of it ? 
Something terrible may result.” 

“ Calm yourself, dear Ninette,” said the 
Major, soothingly, as soon as he could put 
in a word. “ The air is so mild that it 


8 


Uncle Titus, 


could not possibly harm any one, and 
the evening was glorious, — quite won- 
derful ! Let me look at the beautiful 
evenings of earth as long as I may; it 
will neither hasten nor retard what must 
soon come.” 

But these quiet words called forth an- 
other lament. 

“ How can you speak so } How can 
you give me such anxiety.? How can you 
say such terrible words .? ” cried the ex- 
cited woman, again and again. “ Such a 
thing cannot be; it shall not be. What 
would happen to — You know whom I 
mean.” Here she cast a significant look 
at Dora. “No, Karl; that is too much. 
I should not know what to do. It could 
not be borne ! ” 

“ But, dear Ninette,” interposed her 
brother, “ do not forget one thing, — 


Under the Lindens, 


9 


‘“Thou art not made a ruler, 

The course of things to tell; 

God stays and reigns among us, 

And guideth all things well.”^ 

“ Oh, yes ! I know that, — that is true,” 
declared his sister; “but where there is 
no help and no escape, one must die of 
anxiety, and you speak as if such a ter- 
rible thing could happen.” 

“ Let us say good-night, and not com- 
plain any more,” said the Major, extending 
his hand. “ Let us both remember that 
‘ God stays and reigns among us.’ ” 

“ Yes, that is certainly true,” reiterated 
his sister. “ But don’t get cold in the 
street; and go down-stairs softly; and — • 
do you hear, Dora.f^ — close the door be- 
low gently; and, Karl, do look out for the 
draught in the street.” 

During these admonitions they de- 


lO 


Uncle Titus, 


scended the stairs and closed the street- 
door, according to directions, when they 
had only to cross the street to reach their 
own dwelling. 

The next evening, as Dora sat again 
with her father under the lindens, she 
asked, “ Papa, did not Aunt Ninette know 
the verse before, — 

“‘Thou art not made a ruler, 

The course of things to tell; 

God dwells and reigns among us, 

And guideth all things well ’ ? ” 

“Yes, yes, Dora; she knew it,” was the 
answer. “ Only sometinl^es, in her anx- 
iety, she forgets who rules all things ; but 
she soon puts herself right again.” 

Dora thought awhile, then she said, — 

“ But, papa, how can we help being so 
anxious that we almost die of dread, as 
Aunt Ninette said.f^” 


Under the Lindens, 


II 


“ My dear child,” responded her father, 
“ whatever happens to us, we must think 
that it comes from the good God. If it 
is a joy, we should have praise in our 
hearts ; if it is a sorrow, it cannot affright 
and trouble us much, for we know that a 
good God sends us only what is to prove 
a blessing in the end. And, although a 
grief should come to us, so heavy that we 
can see no help or way of relief, yet God 
knows a way, and can bring good out of 
what seems to us entirely evil and sad. 
Do you understand, Dora, and will you 
think of it when such an experience 
comes to you ? Every one has sad days, 
and they will come to you, too, dear child.” 

“Yes, I understand it now, and I will 
certainly think of it, papa,” said Dora. 
“ I would much rather feel safe than to 
live in fear.” 

But we must not forget,” continued 


12 


Uncle Titus, 


her father, after a pause, “that we must 
think of God not only when something 
especial happens, but in every thing ; and 
always ask, ‘ Is it right ? ’ So we come to 
the true safety, and are already with God 
when evil comes, and we have need of 
Him. But if we never think of Him 
until trouble comes, then it is hard to find 
the way to Him.” 

“ Oh ! I will not lose the way,” said 
Dora, eagerly. “ I will ask God every 
day, ‘ Is this right 1 ’ ” 

Tenderly the father stroked the little 
hand which lay in his. He said no more, 
but the love and tenderness in his glance 
seemed to enfold the child with a power 
that she must feel. 

The golden sun sank behind the green 
trees, and father and child turned their 
steps towards the tall house in the narrow 
street. 


Long^ Lo7tg Days. 


13 


CHAPTER II. 

LONG, LONG DAYS. 

Some days after, Dora sat by her father’s 
bedside with her head buried in the pil- 
low, sobbing as if her heart would break. 
Her father lay still and pale, a kindly 
smile resting on his countenance. 

She could not understand nor believe 
what she knew was true, — her father had 
followed her mother: he was in heaven. 
He had not come that morning as usual 
to call her, and when she awoke and went 
to look for him, she found him apparently 
asleep, and had quietly seated herself near 
him, in order not to awaken him. 

When the woman came up with break- 


14 


Uncle Titus. 


fast, and looked in through the open door, 
she drew back with a cry of alarm, “ He 
is dead! I will bring your aunt,” and 
was gone. 

These words fell with crushing weight 
on Dora’s heart. She put her head on 
the pillow beside her father and lay there 
sobbing until she heard her aunt enter. 

Then she tried to master her grief, 
knowing that a fearful scene would ensue. 
So she buried her head in her arms to 
choke her sobs. 

There was a terrible outburst of grief. 
Her aunt complained pitifully that the 
greatest possible misfortune had come to 
her, and that she could not see any light 
before her. What should she do } 

She gathered up some papers which lay 
in the open drawer of a table near the 
bed, and was about to lock them up, when 


• Long, Long Days, 15 

a letter fell out which was addressed to 
her. She opened it and read, — 

^‘Dear Sister Ninette, — I feel that I 
must soon leave you. I will not talk with you 
about it, that you may not feel the sorrow until 
it comes. One thing I should like to ask you 
to bear on your heart. Keep my child as long 
as she needs your assistance. I have not much 
to leave her ; but spend this little in teaching 
her something useful, that she may be able to 
support herself. Do not allow yourself to be 
overcome by grief. Believe, as I do, that God 
takes care of the children we commend to 
Him when we can do nothing more ourselves. 
Accept my thanks for all the kindness you 
have shown me and my child. May God 
reward you.’^ 

The letter seemed to impress the wo- 
man. She did not indulge in any more 
laments; but turned towards Dora, who 


1 6 Uncle Titus, 

was still weeping softly, with her face 
covered. 

“ Come with me, Dora,” she said ; “ now 
you must live with us. We must think 
that it is well with your father, otherwise 
we should die of our trouble and anxiety.” 

Dora followed obediently; but it seemed 
to her as if all was over, as if she could 
not live any longer. 

As they went up the stairs, her aunt 
forgot for the first time to caution her 
to be quiet, and it was quite unnecessary ; 
Dora seemed to have no more life. 

Aunt Ninette had an attic room which 
she had used as a store-room. This was 
arranged for Dora’s sleeping-room. The 
girl followed all her aunt’s directions 
silently, and came down when she was 
called to the evening meal, at which 
Uncle Titus appeared. He hardly ever 


Long^ Long Days. 17 

spoke, for he was usually buried in 
thought. 

Later, Dora went up to her little room 
and wept until she fell asleep. 

The next day she begged to go and see 
her father, and her aunt unwillingly pre- 
pared to accompany her. 

The girl whispered a soft farewell, and 
then hastened to her own room to sob out 
her grief, knowing that she would never 
see her father again on earth. 

A very different sort of life now began 
for Dora. She had not been sent to 
school during their stay in Carlsruhe. 
Her father seemed unwilling to make any 
plans for her future, but left it all to Aunt 
Ninette, who decided to send her every 
morning to a private school kept by an 
acquaintance of hers, and in the afternoon 
to a seamstress who would teach her plain 


1 8 Uncle Titus, 

sewing. This Aunt Ninette considered 
as one of the most useful of employments, 
and she wished her niece to be so thor- 
oughly taught that it would be a means 
of earning a livelihood for her. 

Dora liked to study, and when she was 
in school with other children she would 
sometimes forget that her good father was 
no longer with her; but it was not so 
pleasant to sit in a narrow room during 
the long, hot summer afternoons, forcing 
a dull needle through heavy cotton cloth. 

The clock kept up a monotonous tick- 
tack in the quiet room ; but it seemed to 
Dora that it was always half-past four, 
and that the hands would never move on. 
The afternoons were so long and hot and 
still ! The only sound which penetrated 
this attic-room was that of a distant piano ; 
and Dora listened eagerly for this every 


19 


Long, Long Days, 

day, thinking how some happy child was 
sitting at the instrument to practise. 

She could imagine nothing better in 
the world than to be able to play the 
piano ;■ and when some fragment of a mel- 
ody floated in to her, she was charmed, 
and would say to herself, “ Oh, how happy 
that child must be to learn such a beauti- 
ful thing ! ” 

These long hours with the seamstress 
brought many sad thoughts to the girl’s 
heart, — memories of the pleasant walks 
under the lindens which could never be 
again. Her only comfort was her father’s 
assurance that she would sometime go to 
him and her mother ; but it seemed such 
a long time to wait ! 

She almost wished something would 
happen, — that the confinement and sew- 
ing: would make her ill, and she would die. 


20 


U7icle Titm, 


But, at last, another thought would 
come and console her, — 

“ God stays and rules among us. 

And guideth all things well.” 

She tried to believe this firmly; and it 
comforted her heart, so that even her 
needle seemed to go more easily. 

But the days were still long, and when 
she went home at night it was so quiet ! 
At supper Uncle Titus took an enormous 
newspaper and read and ate behind it; 
and her aunt spoke in a very low tone, 
and only when necessary, in order not to 
disturb him. 

Dora said nothing; and, in fact, she 
hardly ever spoke at all now. Her aunt 
never had occasion to admonish her to be 
gentle. Yet Dora was not by nature a 
quiet child. On the contrary, she early 
displayed such activity that her father 


Long^ Long Days, 21 

often said, with evident satisfaction, “ The 
child is the image of her mother, — the 
same versatility, the same cheerfulness 
and life ! ” 

All that seemed to have disappeared. 

It was very seldom that she gave her 
aunt any cause of complaint, for she 
dreaded her outbreaks of fretfulness ; and 
so every wish, almost every impulse of 
life, was repressed. 

One evening Dora came home filled 
with excitement, for she had heard some 
one playing, — 

“Rejoice in your life, 

While the lamp glows; 

And, ere it fades, 

Gather the rose.” 

Dora knew the melody, and could sing 
it; and the thought that it could be 
played like this on the piano so aroused 


22 


Uncle Titus, 


her that she said, as she entered the 
room, — 

“ O Aunt Ninette! it must be the great- 
est happiness to learn to play on the 
piano. Do you think that I ever, ever in 
my whole life can do it } ” 

“ Dear me ! how can you mention such 
things to me ? ” complained her aunt. 
“How can you cause me such trouble 
How could such a thing happen here ? 
Think of the dreadful noise which a piano 
makes in a house 1 and where is there a 
possibility of it.f^ Where would the means 
and the time come from ? O Dora 1 how 
can you have such unfortunate thoughts ? 
It is enough to bear the ills that we have 
already, without making me anxious with 
such plans I ” 

Dora promised not to make any plans, 
and from that time she never spoke of the 
piano. 


Long^ Long Days, 23 

Every evening, when she had finished 
her school exercise, while her aunt mended, 
or knit, or napped, she stole up to her lit- 
tle attic room ; and, before she closed the 
window, looked out at the stars which 
gleamed so brightly. 

Just over her head there were always 
five near together, and Dora came to 
know them so well that they seemed like 
friends who wished to comfort her, and 
show her that she was not alone ; and the 
thought came to her that they were sent 
by her father and mother to bring their 
greetings. 

This was a great consolation to her 
every night when she came into the dark 
room ; and, as she sent her evening prayer 
up to heaven, full confidence entered her 
heart that God would not leave her alone. 
Her father had often told her that who- 


Uncle Titus, 


24 

ever asks God for protection has nothing 
to fear. 

So the long summer days passed. Au- 
tumn came, and a long winter followed, 
which was so cold and dark that Dora 
thought she liked the hot days better than 
these, when she could not open her win- 
dow and see her stars, and was often so 
cold that she could not sleep; for the 
room under the roof was not warm. 

Spring and summer came again, and 
there was no change in the quiet house- 
hold. 

Dora worked more than ever on the 
great shirts, for now she had to help the 
seamstress in earnest. 

When the hot days came, something 
happened which disturbed Aunt Ninette 
greatly. 

Uncle Titus had an attack of dizziness, 
and a physician was called. 


Long^ Long Days, 25 

“ He probably has not been outside of 
Carlsruhe for thirty years, and, during this 
time, has never left his desk except to eat 
and sleep ? ” he asked, after he had exam- 
lined the patient. 

The question had to be answered in 
the affirmative. 

“Good!” said the doctor. “Now off, 
away, at once I to-day rather than to-mor- 
row. Go to Switzerland ; to the good 
fresh mountain air, not too high up. You 
need no other medicine. But stay away 
six weeks at the least. Have you any 
choice where No You can think it 
over. I will do the same, and come to- 
morrow to find you ready to start.” 

‘ The doctor retired, and Aunt Ninette 
after him ; for now a flood of questions 
rose before her eyes which she must ask 
in regard to this most unexpected deci- 


26 


U^icle Titus. 


sion. It was of no use for the doctor to 
try to be very short : he was detained at 
the door three times as long as he had 
been inside. 

When Aunt Ninette returned, after 
some time, she found Uncle Titus sitting 
at his desk, absorbed in his writing, as 
usual. 

“ My dear Titus,” she cried, in the deep- 
est amazement. “ Can you have really 
heard what is before us? To break up at 
once, leave every thing, and go, — we do 
not know where ! And to stay so long, 
six weeks or more, and not to know where 
and how, and with whom, and in what 
neighborhood ! It is a frightful thought, 
and there you sit and write as if there 
were nothing before us.” 

“ My dear, it is because this journey 
impends that I must use my time,” an- 
swered Mr. Titus, writing industriously. 


Long^ Long Days, 27 

“ My dear Titus, it is wonderful how 
readily you adapt yourself to unexpected 
circumstances ! But this matter must be 
discussed : it may have serious conse- 
quences,” said Aunt Ninette, very impres- 
sively. “ Do think where we can go ! ” 

“ It is all the same to me, if it is only 
quiet; and it is sure to be that in the 
country,” remarked Uncle Titus, working 
on. 

“ That is exactly what I am consider- 
ing,” continued his wife. “ How we can 
be sure that we do not get into a house 
full of people, or into a noisy neighbor- 
hood. There might be a school in the 
neighborhood, or a mill, or a waterfall, — 
there are so many of them in Switzerland, 
— or some noisy trade might be carried 
on there ; or there might be a place in the 
vicinity where a provincial court meets, 


28 


U^tcle Titus, 


and brings together the people of an en- 
tire canton, which must cause a terrible 
tumult. But I have a thought, dear Titus. 
There is one way to avoid all that. I will 
write to Hamburg, where the old uncle 
of my blessed brother’s wife lives. You 
know that the family lived once in Swit- 
zerland, so I can get exact information.” 

“ It seems to me rather a roundabout 
way,” said Uncle Titus; “and, so far as 
I know, the family had some unpleasant 
experience in Switzerland, and will hardly 
have kept up any connections there.” 

“ Let me take care of that. I will ar- 
range every thing all right, my dear 
Titus,” ended Aunt Ninette. 

She wrote a letter to Hamburg, and 
then betook herself to Dora’s sewing- 
teacher to talk over the child’s lonely con- 
dition with her; and it was agreed that 


29 


Long^ Long Days, 

the seamstress should stay with her at 
night, and that Dora should spend all her 
free time out of school during the day 
with the seamstress. 

This decision was made known to Dora 
when she came home. She listened in 
silence, and then went up to her lonely 
room. Here she seated herself on the 
bed, and many thoughts and memories 
arose in ^her heart of the time when her 
father had been with her, and talked to 
her so lovingly. Then she realized how 
entirely alone she was, and that, when 
her uncle and aunt were gone, there was 
nobody who loved her. She grew so sad 
over these thoughts that she began to 
weep bitterly, and, the more she thought, 
the more desolate her life seemed. If her 
uncle and aunt should die, there was no- 
body in the world to whom she belonged ; 


Uncle Titus, 


30 

and then she would have to sew from 
morning till evening, for her aunt had 
told her that she must support herself 
sometime. She sat weeping so long that, 
when she took her hands away from her 
eyes, the room was perfectly dark. Her 
candle had long since burned out, and 
there was no longer any light in the street. 
But her five stars shone through the win- 
dow, beaming so brightly that it seemed 
to Dora, all at once, as if her father was 
looking at her with his loving eyes, and 
saying trustfully, as on that other even- 
ing,— 

“ God stays and reigns among us, 

And guideth all things well.’^ 

The starry light shone deep into her 
heart, and made it lighter; for what her 
father had said must be true, and she 
could have this same trust, and not fear 
for the future. 


Long, Long Days, 


31 


So she lay down, quieted, still looking 
at her beautiful stars. 

The next evening the doctor appeared 
again, as he had promised, with various 
propositions in regard to Mr. Ehrenreich’s 
journey. 

But Aunt Ninette explained that she 
already had something in view ; and, when 
she had arranged every thing, she would 
ask the doctor’s judgment upon it. 

“ Only don’t make it too long. Start 
soon, go soon ! ” advised the doctor, as he 
tried to hurry away, almost falling over 
Dora, who had entered so softly that he 
had not noticed her. 

“ What, what ! it did not hurt you ? ” he 
said, tapping the frightened child on the 
shoulder. “ The journey will be good for 
this slender creature, — only drink a great 
deal of milk; always drink milk.” 


32 


Uncle Titus, 


“ We have decided to leave Dora here, 
doctor,” remarked Aunt Ninette. 

“ Well, that is your affair, Mrs. Ehren- 
reich. Only you must watch her, or you 
will have something worse here than with 
your husband.” 

And the doctor was outside the door. 

“ Doctor, doctor ! What do you mean } 
what do you mean ? ” called Aunt Ninette, 
running down the stairs after him. 

“ I mean,” said the doctor, “ that the 
little person has too little blood, and can- 
not live unless she gets some.” 

“Oh, dear! must every misfortune burst 
upon us } ” cried the woman, as she re- 
entered the room,* wringing her hands. 
“ My dear Titus, put down your pen a 
minute. You have not heard what a 
frightful thing the doctor predicts for 
Dora if she does not get more blood.” 


Long^ Long Days. 33 

“ Take her with us to Switzerland: she 
does not make any noise,” said Uncle 
Titus, and wrote on. 

“ But, my dear Titus, to make such a 
decision in a half-second ! She does not 
make a noise, that is a great thing; but 
there is so much to consider and weigh 
and think over. Ah, ah ! ” Here Aunt 
Ninette observed that her husband was so 
buried in his work that further communi- 
cations were useless. 

She went into her room, and considered 
every thing for and against, until she 
finally decided that it was best to follow 
the doctor’s advice, and take Dora with 
them. The answer from Hamburg came 
a few days later. The old uncle knew 
nothing about his brother’s life in Switzer- 
land more than thirty years before, only 
that Tannenberg, the little town, was quiet 


Uncle Titus, 


34 

and secluded, for his brother had always 
complained of the lack of society. 

This account so pleased Aunt Ninette 
that she decided to apply to the pastor of 
Tannenberg and inquire for a suitable 
house. 

The answer came soon, and was very 
satisfactory. The pastor wrote that Tan- 
nenberg was a little village consisting of 
a few scattered houses and cottages. By 
chance, just such a lodging as was desired 
could be had with the widow of a teacher, 
an elderly and very worthy woman, who 
could let two good rooms and a chamber. 
He enclosed the widow’s address, in case 
further information was desired. 

Aunt Ninette was so pleased that she 
wrote to the widow ^ at once, expressing 
her joy that the houses in Tannenberg 
were so scattered ; but it might be that 


35 


Long, Long Days. 

the house was in a neighborhood which 
must be especially avoided by the sick 
man ; therefore she must ask if any black- 
smith, any locksmith, any stone-cutter, and 
especially any butcher, lived near; or if 
there was any school, any mill, and par- 
ticularly any waterfall, in the vicinity. 

All these questions were answered in 
the most satisfactory manner. No me- 
chanic was to be found far or near. The 
school and mill were so far away that no 
sound ever was heard from them, and 
there was no waterfall in the region. . 

The widow could further assert that 
she lived in the most agreeable neighbor- 
hood, with no dwelling near except the 
great house of Mr. Birkenfeld, which had 
a splendid garden and fine fields and 
meadows around it. 

This was the most important family in 


36 


U7icle Titus, 


the whole region, and Mr. Birkenfeld and 
his wife were public benefactors. She 
herself was greatly indebted to them ; for 
her little house belonged to the estate, 
Mr. Birkenfeld having offered it to her 
after her husband’s death. 

Thus every thing was arranged in the 
best way. All possible chances of dis- 
turbance were provided for, and the day 
for their departure was set. 

With great astonishment, Dora heard 
that she was to go too ; and, full of won- 
der, she packed the six great shirts which 
she was to take as work. She was so 
animated at the prospect of making them 
in a new place, that every thing seemed 
to her like a fete^ even sewing these long 
seams. 

At last, after many weary days, trunks 
and boxes stood ready, and the maid was 
sent for a cab. 


Long^ Long Days, 


37 


Dora stood on the steps, and her heart 
beat high with expectation of the jour- 
ney, and all she would see in six weeks. 
Finally Uncle Titus and Aunt Ninette 
came out with numerous umbrellas and 
boxes, and established themselves with 
much difficulty in the coach, after which 
they sank back, exhausted by their exer- 
tions, and drove towards the quiet life of 
the country. 


38 


Uncle Titus, 


CHAPTER III. 

ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE HEDGE. 

Far over the wooded valleys of Tan- 
nenberg, and over the glittering lake, 
looks a green height covered with fresh 
fields, in which red and blue and yellow 
flowers glimmer and gleam from early 
spring until late in the autumn. 

On the crest of the hill stood the great 
house of Mr. Birkenfeld, and near by the 
roomy barn and stable where four spirited 
horses were kept, and rows of glossy cows 
stood chewing the fragrant hay. When 
Hans, the young stable boy, and the other 
men were busy in the fields, Battiste, the 
old house-servant, made the round of the 


On the Other Side of the Hedge. 39 

stalls to see if all was in order. He had 
served with Mr. Birkenfeld’s father as a 
boy, and now, on account of his years, 
was promoted to be a house-servant ; but 
he still had an oversight of the farm-work. 

Great heaps of fresh hay lay on the 
barn floor, and the granary was filled with 
corn, barley, and oats, all raised on the 
estate, which extended far over the hill 
and down into the valley. 

On the other side of the house was an 
out-building used for washing purposes ; 
and not far from that, separated by a high, 
thick hedge, was a smaller house, which 
Mr. Birkenfeld had allowed the widow 
Kurd to occupy some years before. 

It was a warm summer evening, and 
the red and white daisies in the field be- 
fore the house looked up gayly to the 
setting sun. 


40 


Uncle Titus. 


In an open place by the house-door lay 
a shaggy dog, blinking now and then to 
see if any thing new was going on ; but 
every thing was quiet, and he closed his 
eyes to sleep again. From time to time a 
young gray cat appeared in the doorway, 
looked at the sleeper with an energetic 
expression, and then retreated cautiously. 
Thus great quiet reigned before the house ; 
but through the back-door, which led into 
the garden, there came sounds of voices, 
and of running here and there, denoting 
great activity. 

Now wheels were heard. They came 
nearer, and stopped before the widow’s 
house. 

The dog opened his eyes an instant, 
and pricked up his ears; but it did not 
seem worth the trouble even of growling, 
and he slept on. 


On the Other Side of the Hedge. 41 

The guests whom the wagon had 
brought dismounted and entered the 
house in silence. 

Mrs. Kurd, the widow, received them 
politely, and conducted them at once to 
their rooms. 

Not long after. Aunt Ninette stood in 
the large room unpacking the great trunk, 
and Dora was in the small room emptying 
the small trunk, while Uncle Titus sat at 
the square table in his room, arranging 
his writing materials. 

From time to time Dora ran to the win- 
dow. She had never seen a prospect so 
beautiful in her life. 

All around were green fields sprinkled 
with red and yellow flowers, below which 
was a forest; farther away, the blue lake 
crowned with snow-white mountains ; while 
all the hills around glowed in the setting 


42 


Uncle Titus, 


sun. She could hardly keep away from 
the window, and had never known that 
the world could be so beautiful. Her 
aunt called her to take some things which 
had been put in the large trunk. 

“O Aunt Ninette! how beautiful it is 
here I ” cried Dora, as she entered, louder 
than she had spoken since she lived with 
her aunt. 

“ Sh ! sh I How you rush in ! ” said her 
aunt, checking her. “Your uncle is sit- 
ting there, already plunged deep in his 
work." 

Dora took her things, and, in passing 
the window, said, — 

“ May I stop a minute to see what there 
is from this window " 

“You may look a moment, but there is 
nobody there," was the answer. “ It is a 
beautiful, quiet garden. From the win- 


On the Other Side of the Hedge, 43 

dow opposite you can see the great yard 
in front of the house ; nothing else except 
a dog asleep. It is to be hoped he is 
always so. You may take a look over 
there too.” 

Dora had opened the window towards 
the garden, letting in the fragrance of 
jasmine and mignonette from the flower- 
beds. The high, green hedge stretched 
far, far away, so large was the garden ; 
and inside were green grass-plots, flower- 
beds, and thickly-grown arbors. How 
beautiful it must be from the inside ! 

Nobody was to be seen; but some one 
must have been there, for near the house- 
door was a wonderful arch made of two 
high bean-poles covered with fir branches. 
A large piece of cardboard was suspended 
from this framework, on which something 
was written in large letters. 


44 


Uncle Titus, 


All at once a great noise was heard 
from the yard in front. Dora ran to the 
other window and looked out. A large 
wagon stood there, and the two brown 
horses were stamping impatiently. 

Out of the house rushed one, two, 
three, four, — still more, — five, six, boys 
and girls ; and “ I ! I ! I will go on the 
box,” called one and another, louder and 
louder; and, in the midst of the tumult) 
the dog sprang up, jumping on one after l 
the other, and barking for joy. \ 

Aunt Ninette’s ears had not been 1 
greeted by such a noise time out of mind. 

“For Heaven’s sake, what is going/ 
on ? ” she cried, horrified. “ What sort o^ , 
a place have we got into ? ” 

“ Oh, come, aunt ; look, look ! they are 
all getting into the carriage,” cried Dora, 
in ecstasy, who had never seen any thing 
so merry in her life. 


'|i ^ 


Oft the Other Side of the Hedge, 45 

Just then a boy sprang upon a wheel 
and climbed up to the box ; then he leaned 
over and reached his arm towards the 
dog, which kept jumping up with barks 
of delight. 

“Come, Schnurri; come, Schnurri!” 
called the boy continually, pulling the 
ears and paws and shaggy fur of the dog 
until the coachman threw him up with 
one swing. In the mean time the oldest 
brother took up a struggling girl, and 
tossed her into the carriage. “ Me too ! 
Me too, Jule! Toss me higher, higher 
still ! ” cried two boys at once, both 
springing on their brother. The toss 
was repeated with loud shouts, and then 
the tall boy sprang in himself, drawing 
in finally an older sister who had waited 
until the little ones were placed. . Then 
the door was shut with a loud bang, for 
Julius had strong muscles. 


46 


Uncle Titus, 


The horses gave a pull; but another 
cry arose. 

“ If Schnurri goes, then Philomela must 
go too ! ” 

“Trina, Trina!” called the little girl, 
loudly; “give me Philomela. Get Philo- 
mela ! ” 

The maid appeared, and took in the 
situation. She laughed, picked up the 
gray cat from the stone step, and threw it 
into the coach ; and now a loud crack of 
the whip, and they were gone. 

In great alarm Aunt Ninette hastened 
into her husband’s room to see what im- 
pression this scene had made on him. He 
sat peacefully at his table, but had fas- 
tened all his windows. 

“ My dear Titus, who could have sus- 
pected this ? What is to be done } ” ex- 
claimed his wife, complainingly. 


On the Other Side of the Hedge, 47 

“ The house yonder seems to be very 
rich in children. We cannot help that: 
we must close our windows,” he said, in- 
differently. 

“ But, my dear Titus, remember that 
you have come here to breathe fresh 
mountain air. You never go out, so you 
must have the air in your room. If it 
begins so, what will it be, and what shall 
we do if it continues.?” 

“We must move,” said Uncle Titus, 
going on with his writing. This thought 
quieted Aunt Ninette, and she returned 
to her room. 

In the mean time, Dora had been work- 
ing very industriously in her little room ; 
for a great wish had arisen in her heart, 
and she knew that every thing must be in 
order before it could be carried out. 

The merriment and life of the children 


48 Uncle Titus, 

had so charmed her that she was anxious 
to see them come home, and to watch 
what happened. Perhaps they would go 
into the garden where the arch was, and 
then she could see them nearer ; for she 
had observed that Mrs. Kurd’s little gar- 
den was separated from the large one only 
by a hedge, and there must be an opening 
somewhere through which she could look. 

Her heart was so full of the plan that 
she had not thought of what her aunt 
would say. When she went down to 
make her request, Mrs. Kurd had just 
come to announce supper, and Aunt 
Ninette said it would be too late when 
the meal was over. 

But, on Mrs. Kurd’s assurance that the 
garden was perfectly safe, and that no one 
ever came into it, she consented at last. 

Dora could hardly eat, in her eagerness 
to be out. 


On the Other Side of the Hedge, 49 

“You may go now, but not far away 
from the house,” said her aunt, finally. 

The girl ran towards the hedge to see if 
there was any place where she could look 
through. It was a white-thorn hedge, and 
had grown so high and thick that Dora 
could neither look through nor over it; 
but down near the ground there was an 
opening. It was necessary to stoop down 
to see through it ; but this was no draw- 
back to Dora, who was very eager to see 
and hear these children. Never before 
had she seen such a family, — great and 
small, boys and girls, and all so happy 
and gay. 

She bent down to look through the 
hole. 

Nothing was to be heard: all was quiet 
in the garden. The fragrance of the 
flowers was so delicious that Dora could 


50 


U^icle Titus. 


not get enough. How grand it must be 
to sit under that tree on which red apples 
were gleaming, and under which a table 
was half-concealed, with many white ob- 
jects upon it! 

Dora quite forgot herself at the sight ; 
but now, — now, — that was the carriage, 
and all the merry voices. The children 
had returned. 

For a while, all was still again. They 
were in the house, but now they all came 
towards the garden. 

Mr. Birkenfeld had returned from a 
long journey, and his children had been 
to the steamer landing to meet him, while 
their mother made the last preparations 
at home for a festive reception, and had 
the table arranged under the apple-tree. 
She ran out to welcome the returned 
traveller when the carriage stopped in 


On the Other Side of the Hedge, 51 

front of the house ; and there was such a 
tumult of voices, as they all went up the 
steps into the sitting-room, and the greet- 
ings were so violent, that the father 
said, — 

“ Now in turn, children. Take turns, 
— the smallest first, and so on. Begin 
now, little Hunne: what have you to tell 
me.?” 

So saying, he took up the little five- 
year-old, who was named Huldreich origi- 
nally; but the name Hunne, which he 
had given himself when a little fellow, 
had clung to him. Julius, the eldest boy, 
declared that his flat nose reminded one 
of his Asiatic brethren; but his mother 
would not allow this. 

The little fellow had so much to tell 
his father, that the latter said, — 

“ By and by, little Hunne. We will talk 


Uncle Titus, 


52 

more later. Now I must speak to Wili 
and Lili. 

“Well, always cheerful and bright 
And have you been obedient the whole 
time } " 

“ Mostly,” answered Wili, somewhat 
timidly ; and Lili, reminded of many 
deviations from the path of obedience, 
thought it most discreet to say nothing. 

Wili and Lili, the eight-year-old twins, 
were inseparable companions, and often 
engaged in things which they knew ought 
not to be done. 

“ And you, Rolf, how are you ? ” said 
the father, turning to his twelve-year-old 
son. “ Have you learned your Latin well, 
and made fine riddles ? ” 

“ Both, papa ; but the others would not 
guess them: they are too lazy to think, 
and mamma has no time.” 


On the Other Side of the Hedge, 53 

“ That is too bad ; and you, Paula,” 
continued the father, “ are you still walk- 
ing alone in the garden? No friend 
yet?” 

“ Of course not, papa ; but it is beau- 
tiful that you have come,” answered the 
girl, embracing her papa. 

“And Julius is spending his vacation 
in some useful way, of course ? ” said Mr. 
Birkenfeld, giving his hand to his eldest 
son. 

“ Combining the useful with the agree- 
able,” responded Julius. “You know, 
father, that the hazel-nuts are ripe, and I 
am watching the harvest very carefully; 
and I can ride Castor at the same time, 
so that he will not get lazy.” 

Julius had attended a gymnasium in a 
distant city for several years, and was now 
spending his vacation at home. 


54 


Uncle Titus, 


“ Now, papa,*’ he continued, “ I must 
beg you to adjourn to the garden, where 
great surprises await you.” 

This last remark cost him dear; for 
Wili and Lili darted upon him, and pulled 
and pinched and nudged him, to make 
him understand that he must not speak 
about the surprises. 

He defended himself as well as he 
could. 

“ Lili, you little fly, let go. I will take 
it back.” And turning to his father, he 
said, “ I mean in the garden, where mother 
has had things carried which are not to 
be despised in celebrating a feast.” 

“ That is grand ! Perhaps we shall find 
a table set in the garden under my apple- 
tree. I call that a surprise I ” cried the 
father, joyfully. “ So come one and all.” 

And, giving his arm to his wife, he 


On the Other Side of the Hedge, 55 

went out, and the whole flock after him, 
Lili and Wili in a state of great satisfac- 
tion because their father supposed that 
that was the only surprise for him. 

When they stepped out of the door, 
they passed under a high arch, with 
lanterns on both sides which illumined 
a large card, on which something was 
printed. 

“ Ah, ah ! ” said the father, in astonish- 
ment. “ A grand triumphal arch, and a 
poem of welcome ! Let us read it ; ” and 
he read aloud, — 

“ We are ready here to greet you 
Beside the garden gate ; 

Our hearts rejoice to meet you, 

We’ve had so long to wait. 


To-night let mirth and pleasure 
Reign high, and banish pain; 


56 


Uncle Titus, 


Our gladness knows no measure, 

That you are home again.” 

“ Very good ! Rolf must be the author, 
is he not } ” 

“Yes, yes,” cried Wili and Lili. “ Rolf 
made it, but we thought of it. He wrote 
the poetry, and Jule put up the poles, and 
we got the fir branches.” 

“ This is a splendid reception, children,” 
cried the delighted father. “ And you 
have put up so many red and blue and 
yellow lights that it seems like fairyland. 
And now my apple-tree ! I must go 
nearer.” 

In truth the garden was bewitching. 

Julius had tied paper lanterns of all 
colors on the branches of trees and 
shrubs. The old apple-tree was so bril- 
liantly lighted that it looked like an enor- 
mous Christmas-tree, and the red apples 


On the Other Side of the Hedge, 57 

gleaming among the lights made it won- 
derfully beautiful. 

The light fell upon a white-covered 
table beneath, on which large roasts and 
great apple-cakes were arranged in tempt- 
ing array. 

“ I call this a banquet-hall ! ” cried the 
happy father. “ Every thing will taste 
well here, surely. But here is another 
inscription ! ” 

A large white card was suspended from 
the tall bushes behind, on which was 
written, — 

“ My first holds water, cool and clear ; 

My next is a verb you often hear; 

My whole’s the occasion of our feast to-day, 
Because papa has been long away.” 

“ A riddle, which Rolf has dedicated to 
me ! ” exclaimed Mr. Birkenfeld. “ I will 


58 


Uncle Titus, 


soon apply myself to its solution. Now- 
let us sit down and enjoy our reunion.” 

Such a lively conversation ensued, con- 
cerning all that had happened during 
their separation, that there seemed to be 
no end to it. In one of the pauses Mr. 
Birkenfeld drew out a large package from 
under his seat and began to undo it. 

The children looked on eagerly, know- 
ing that presents were coming. 

First appeared a pair of shining spurs 
for Julius, a pretty blue book for Paula, and 
a great bow and quiver with two feathered 
arrows for Rolf ; and, as their father drew 
out the arrows, and showed the sharp iron 
points, he said, — 

“ This is for Rolf, who knows how to 
handle it. Wili and Lili must never 
touch it; they might injure themselves 
and others with it.” 


On the Other Side of the Hedge, 59 

Then came for the twins a splendid 
Noah’s ark, with a pair of every kind of 
animal in it, and Noah’s family, — the men 
with staves in their hands for the long 
journey, and the women provided with 
sunshades, which they might find useful 
in embarking. 

For Hunne there was a wonderful nut- 
cracker, which opened its mouth so wide 
for the nut that it seemed very mournful 
until it was screwed up, when it would 
bite so hard that the whole kernel would 
fall out. 

The presents were examined and ad- 
mired with continual outbursts of joy, 
until their mother reminded them that it 
was long past bedtime. 

“ But who has guessed the riddle ” 
asked their father, in a loud voice. 

No one had, for no one had thought of 
it but Rolf himself. 


6o 


Uncle Titus, 


“ I have solved it myself,” continued 
Mr. Birkenfeld, as no one answered. “ It 
is ‘Welcome,’ is it not, Rolf.^ And I 
thank you for the riddle.” 

Just then a fearful cry arose. “Fire! 
fire 1 ” Everybody sprang up from the 
table. Battiste and Trina rushed upon 
the scene with tubs and pails, and Hans 
came from the barn with a great bucket. 
Everybody ran about and cried wildly, 
“ The bush is burning 1 The hedge is 
burning!” There was a terrible tumult. 

“ Dora ! Dora ! ” called a frightened 
voice in the cottage. 

Dora had been so absorbed in what she 
had seen that she had entirely forgotten 
every thing else. She must have been 
watching for two hours. She hurried in 
to find her aunt running wildly about, 
bringing out heaps of clothing from the 
closet in order to be ready to escape. 


On the Other Side of the Hedge. 6i 

“Aunt Ninette,” said Dora, timidly, 
“don’t be afraid. The fire is out: the 
garden is dark.” 

It was true. The lanterns had been 
extinguished, and every thing was dark. 

“ It is terrible ! Who could have im- 
agined such a thing ? ” fretted her aunt. 
“ Now go to bed, Dora. To-morrow we 
will decide whether we will change our 
lodgings or remove from the place.” 

Dora retired, but not to sleep. The 
lights on the apple-tree danced before her 
eyes, and she heard again the children’s 
merry voices talking with their papa, and 
thought of her own father, who used to 
talk with her. 

It seemed as if she would be separated 
from some one she loved if her aunt went 
away ; and the thought drove sleep away. 

She seemed to see these children and 


62 


Uncle Titus. 


their kind papa standing with her father, 
who said, — 

“ God stays and reigns among us. 

And guideth all things well.” 

Then she fell asleep ; but in her dreams 
she still saw the lights, and the shining 
tree, and the merry children in the garden. 


After the quickly extinguished fire an 
investigation revealed the fact that Wili 
and Lili had wished to make Rolfs riddle 
into a transparency, such as they had had 
at Christmas, when “ Glory to God in the 
highest ” appeared in beautiful red, trans- 
parent letters above the Christmas-tree. 
They had climbed upon the high step 
which had been used in hanging up the 
motto, and held two candles near it. The 
lights were brought nearer and nearer 
the paper, until it burst into flame, and 


Oil the Other Side of the Hedge, 63 

the fire was communicated to the nearest 
branches. 

The twins confessed their unsuccessful 
undertaking, and, on account of the fete, 
escaped with a mild reproof, and a strict 
command never to try any experiments 
with fire again. 

Soon all was still in the great house, 
and the moon looked down peacefully on 
the trees and sleeping flowers in the quiet 
garden. 


64 


Uncle Titus, 


CHAPTER IV. 

ALL SIX. 

“We must leave, Mrs. Kurd,” were 
Aunt Ninette’s first words at breakfast 
the next morning. “We have come into 
a fearful neighborhood, and must go away 
to-day.” 

Mrs. Kurd stood in the middle of the 
room, speechless with amazement. She 
looked at Mrs. Ehrenreich as if she did 
not understand her. 

“ I am in earnest, Mrs. Kurd : we must 
go,” repeated Aunt Ninette. 

“ But in the whole of Tannenberg you 
can find no better or more desirable 
neighborhood than this,” began Mrs. 


All Six. 65 

Kurd, at last, recovering a little from her 
astonishment. 

“ But, Mrs. Kurd, did you not hear that 
unheard-of noise last evening ? That was 
worse than all the things I mentioned to 
you which we wished to avoid.” 

“ But, Mrs. Ehrenreich, it was only the 
children, and yesterday was a family festi- 
val, when they were especially merry.” 

“ If family festivals are celebrated here, 
first with shouts of joy, and then an alarm 
of fire, the neighborhood is not only noisy 
but dangerous. We must really leave.” 

“ I do not think that the fire was a part 
of the festival,” responded Mrs. Kurd. 
“ It was accidental, and was soon put out. 
It is a very orderly family, and I cannot 
comprehend how the gentleman and lady 
could wish to remove on account of the 
neighborhood. They would certainly re- 


66 


Uncle Titus » 


pent it, and would not find such lodgings 
elsewhere in Tannenberg.” 

Aunt Ninette composed herself some- 
what, and sat down to breakfast; and 
Uncle Titus soon appeared, followed by 
Dora. 

In the other house breakfast was over. 
Mr. Birkenfeld had gone to his business, 
and the mother was busied with house- 
hold affairs. 

Rolf had long since gone to his Latin 
lesson, which he had with the pastor of a 
neighboring parish. 

Paula had her music-lesson with Frau- 
lein Hanenwinkel, and Wili and Lili were 
preparing their lessons. Little Hunne 
sat by his table in the corner, looking 
thoughtfully at the doleful nut-cracker. 

Julius came into the room from his 
morning ride, whip in hand, and the new 
spurs on his feet. 


All Six. 


67 


“ Who will draw off my riding-boots ? ” 
he cried, seating himself, and admiring 
his spurs. 

In an instant Wili and Lili were on 
the spot, glad of a new field of labor. 
Each child took hold of one of the long 
boots, and, before he knew it, Julius was 
off his seat ; for they pulled with all their 
might. 

The boots did not come off, but Julius 
did. 

The chair came, too; and Julius cried 
loudly, “ Stop, stop ! ” 

This brought little Hunne to the rescue, 
who grasped the chair, and tried to hold 
it ; but he was pulled along too, as if he 
were sliding on the ice. 

Wili and Lili wished to finish their 
work, and continued pulling, while Julius 
kept shouting, “ Stop, stop ! — 


68 


Uncle Titus, 


“ O Wilien and Lilien^ 

You terrible children!'*^ 

Little Hunne cried for help as loudly 
as he could, which brought their mother. 
This mended matters. Wili and Lili let 
go, Julius sprang upon the chair, and 
Hunne managed to balance himself on 
his feet. 

“ But, Julius, how can you make the 
children so wild?” she said. “You ought 
to know better.” 

“Yes, yes; I will do better,” said Julius. 
“ But, really, mamma, I am assisting you 
in your training in this way ; for as long 
as I employ Wili and Lili with useful 
bodily exercise, they are prevented from 
doing some horrible mischief.” 

“Julius, Julius! Begin to reform now,” 
said his mother, warningly. “ And you, 
Lili, go to the piano down-stairs and prac- 


All Six, 


69 


tise diligently until Fraulein Hanenwin- 
kel is done with Paula. Wili may study 
till then. I should like it, Julius, if you 
would amuse your little brother for a 
while until I come.” 

Julius willingly promised to do his best, 
and Lili hastened to the piano. 

She was so excited that she did not 
succeed very well with scales ; so she 
decided that her little pieces would go 
better, and she began to play, — 

“Rejoice in your life 

While the lamp glows; 

And, ere it fades, 

Gather the rose.” 

Uncle Titus and his wife had just fin- 
ished their breakfast when the boot scene 
began. The former betook himself to his 
room and closed the windows. His wife 
called their landlady, that she might hear 


70 


Uncle Titus, 


what was going on; but the affair did 
not seem to make the same impression 
on her. 

“ Ah, they are merry again,” she said, 
quite pleased ; and when Mrs. Ehrenreich 
represented to her that such a noise was 
not suited to restore invalids to health, 
she suggested that, if Mr. Ehrenreich 
would take a little walk, it might do him 
good: he could go up into the woods, 
where it was beautifully still. 

She added that things would not always 
be as lively at the other house, — that 
the young man was at home now on his 
vacation, and would soon go away. 

Just then Lili’s joyful song rang out 
with the piano. 

“ That, too ! Is that also the young 
man who is soon to leave ? ” asked Aunt 
Ninette, in great excitement. “ It is be- 


All Six. 


71 


yond endurance ! always something new, 
— something noisy, ringing, frightful ! 
Mrs. Kurd, is it possible you have never 
heard that before } ” 

“ I have really never considered it un- 
pleasant. The little one plays so well 
already that it is a pleasure to hear her,” 
remarked Mrs. Kurd. 

“ And where is Dora gone, all at once } 
She seems to be bewitched, and to over- 
step all bounds ; and to-day her work 
must be taken in hand. Dora, Dora ! 
have you gone down already 1 ” called her 
aunt, fretfully. 

Dora was at her lookout in the hedge, 
and was listening with wonder to the 
merry song which Dili was drumming. 
She appeared at once, however, at her 
aunt’s call ; and a place was arranged for 
her by the window, where she was to 


Uncle Titus, 


72 

sit during the day and work at her 
shirts. 

“We cannot remain here,” were her 
aunt’s last words, as she left the room. 
This almost brought the tears into Dora’s 
eyes ; for it was her dearest wish to stay 
where there were so many pleasant things 
to see and hear, which she could enjoy 
through her hole in the hedge. She tried 
to think how she could hinder their de- 
parture; but nothing suggested itself. 

It was now eleven o’clock, and Rolf 
came storming home. He ran into the 
kitchen, when he saw his mother there. 

“ Mamma, mamma ! ” he called eagerly, 
before he was inside. “ Now you must 
guess quick. ‘ My first ’ ” — 

“ My dear Rolf,” interrupted his mother, 
“ I must beg you to find another guesser : 
I have really no time now. Go to Paula : 
she has just gone into the sitting-room.” 


All Six, 


73 


Rolf obeyed. 

“ Paula,” he cried, on the way, “ do 
guess! ‘My first, one is’” — 

“ No, Rolf, please, not now,” returned 
Paula. “ I am looking for my exercise 
book, and must go to make a French 
translation. There comes Fraulein Han- 
enwinkel: she is good at guessing.” 

Rolf sprang upon her. 

“ Fraulein Hanenwinkel, ‘ My first, one 
is often ’ ” — 

“ No time, Rolf, no time,” pleaded the 
Fraulein. “Mr. Julius is sitting there in 
the corner cracking nuts : go to him. 
A uf wiedersehenr 

Fraulein Hanenwinkel was so fond of 
nd had so appropriated this form of fare- 
well that she employed it on all occasions. 

If, for example, an importunate scissors- 
Tinder appeared, she said, regularly, “ Are 


74 


Uncle Titus, 


you here again ? Da stay where you be- 
long! Auf wiedersehen ! and the door 
was shut 

When she had to dismiss pedlers, she 
said, as she closed the door upon them, 
“You know that we do not need any 
thing. Do not come any more. Auf 
wiedersehen ! ” 

This was her peculiarity. 

It was true that Julius was sitting in 
the corner with little Hunne, who was 
eagerly watching the dubious face of his 
nut-cracker, as it bit nut after nut. Rolf 
joined them. 

“Julius, you have time,” he said; “now 
guess, — 

“‘My first, one is often told to mind, — 

A slang phrase not used by people refined; 

My second is often given at school 

To bad boys who whisper and break the rule. 


My whole is a statesman, the first in our land, 

Who guides all affairs with a powerful hand.’ ” 

“ That must be Bismarck^,' said quick- 
witted Julius. 

“ Why, how quickly you guessed it ! ” 
said Rolf, in astonishment. 

“ Now it is my turn, Rolf. ‘ Let me see, 
— I have thought of something ; and 
Julius began to declaim, impressively, — 

“My first on four feet goes, 

And troubles our repose 
By sending forth my last. 

My whole, — please state it, 

All students make it. 

Professors hate it.” 

“ That is difficult,” said Rolf, who 
needed time to think. “Wait, Jule, I 
will soon get it ; ” and he seated himself 
on a stool to think. 


76 


Uncle Titus, 


Julius and little Hunne still kept on 
with their work, the former now and 
then throwing a shell at a certain mark 
to prove his skill. 

“ I know,” cried Rolf, in delight. “ It 
is cat-calhr 

“ O Rolf, how you guess ! ” cried Julius, 
horrified. “ Quite the contrary ; it is 
music, — cat-musicr 

* “ Yes,” said Rolf, somewhat taken aback ; 
“ but, wait ! what is this } ‘ My first ’ ” — 

“ No, no; it is too much exertion. Pray 
excuse me, I must go and see to Castor ; ” 
and Julius jumped up and hurried to the 
barn. 

“ It is too bad,” said Rolf, sighing. 
“ Nobody pays any attention to me, and 
I have made four more beautiful riddles ; 
and you cannot guess, Hunne: you are 
too young.” 


All Six. 


77 


“Yes, I can,” said Hunne, boldly. 

“ Oh, I can’t wait for you ! ” and Rolf 
tried to hurry away ; but this was not so 
easy, for Hunne had tried his skill in 
making a riddle. 

“Wait, wait, Rolf!” he cried, holding 
his brother’s jacket firmly. “ It is my 
turn now, and you must guess. ‘ My first 
is not to drink, but to eat ’ ” — 

“ It must be a nut-cracker,” cried Rolf, 
running away as fast as he could; but 
Hunne ran nimbly after him, shouting, 
“You have not guessed it! You have 
not guessed it I Guess, Rolf, guess ! ” 
And Will and Lili came running to- 
wards him from the other side, shouting, 
“Rolf, Rolf, a riddle! Just guess,” and 
Lili held a strip of paper close to his 
eyes, while their little brother kept cry- 
ing, “Guess, Rolf; guess, Rolf!” 


78 


Uncle Titus, 


The riddle-maker found himself in a 
^reat dilemma. 

“ Well, give me room to guess in,” he 
cried, waving his arms to clear the space 
about him. 

“You can’t guess it; I am going to 
Jule,” said Hunne, somewhat slightingly, 
as he walked away. 

Then Rolf seized the narrow, yellowed 
strip of paper which Lili still held towards 
him, and looked at it wonderingly. In a 
child’s hand, which he had never seen be- 
fore, were written the enigmatical words, — 

“My hand in 
And there I 
Never to 
But stern fate 
Life’s streams 
And you 
This sheet we 
And may it 


All Six, 


79 


Until we 
And if it 
We place them 
There let them.” 

“ It is a rebus, perhaps,” said Rolf, 
thoughtfully. “ I will soon guess it, only 
let me alone ; for I must think very hard.” 

There was not much time for this, as 
the dinner-bell rang almost immediately; 
and the whole family was soon assembled 
around the table in the great dining-room. 

“ What good thing has my little Hunne 
done to-day ” asked papa, when all were 
helped. 

“ I have made a riddle, papa ; but Rolf 
will never guess my riddles, and I can’t 
find Jule, and the others do not give me 
any attention.” 

“ Yes, papa,” interposed Rolf, eagerly, 
“and I have made four or five beautiful 


8o 


Uncle Titus. 


riddles; but nobody has time to guess 
them except those who cannot understand 
them; and when Jule has guessed one 
that is all he will do, and I could make 
six every day.” 

“Yes, yes, papa!” cried Lili and Wili 
together ; “ and we have found a difficult 
riddle, — so difficult that Rolf cannot 
guess it. Yes, and it is a rebus.” 

“ Only wait, I will find it out,” asserted 
Rolf. 

“ The house is full of riddles,” said the 
father. “We seem to have a riddle fever. 
We could employ a man to do nothing 
but solve riddles.” 

“ If I could only find such a man 1 ” 
sighed Rolf ; for to make riddles for some 
one who would listen to them intelligently 
appeared to him the most desirable thing 
on earth. 


All Six. 


8i 


After dinner, the whole family went 
out under the apple-tree, — the mother, 
Fraulein Hanenwinkel, and the girls, 
armed with their sewing and knitting- 
work. Even little Hunne had a question- 
able piece of work in hand, on which he 
made long stitches with a red thread, — 
he wished to embroider a horse-blanket 
for Julius. 

Julius had brought a book, at his 
mother’s request, to read aloud. Rolf sat 
opposite, under the ash-tree, studying his 
Latin. Wili was near him, trying to learn 
his sentences ; but he looked first at the 
birds up in the branches, then at the 
laborers in the field, and then at the red 
apples upon the tree ; for Wili loved things 
which can be seen, and only with the 
greatest trouble, and usually only with 
Lili’s help, could he get any others into 


82 


Uncle Titus, 


his head : consequently his afternoon study 
was usually changed into a continual con- 
templation of the landscape. 

Julius seemed to have a similar feeling 
to-day, for he did not open his book ; but 
gazed here and there, and especially at 
his sister. 

“ Paula,” he said, at last, “ your face has 
looked all day as if you were a walking 
collection of troubles.” 

“Pray begin to read, Julius: then we 
shall hear something better than such 
comparisons, which no one can under- 
stand,” responded Paula. 

“Yes, Julius, I think it would be well 
to begin,” said his mother. “ But I must 
say, Paula, that for several days you have 
been so silent and reserved, that I should 
like to ask what has so put you out of 
humor with all your surroundings.” 


All Six. 


33 


“ But, mamma, to whom should I open 
my heart? I have no friend in all Tan- 
nenberg, nor anywhere else. I have no- 
body in whom I can confide.” 

Her mother suggested that she might 
have more intercourse with her sister Lili, 
or with Fraulein Hanenwinkel, who could 
be her friends. 

But Paula declared that the former was 
much too young, and the latter too old, 
for her. The Fraulein was just twenty 
years old ; but that seemed to Paula an 
advanced age. For a friendship, two peo- 
ple must be of the same age, she thought, 
and have the same feelings, and must 
know at once when they meet that they 
belong together, and will never leave each 
other; and if one has no such friendship, 
there is no real joy in any thing, because 
one cannot impart his thoughts and expe- 
riences to any one. 


84 


Uncle Titus. 


“ Paula has gone back into the age of 
romance,” said Julius, seriously. “I am 
sure that for some time she has peered 
into every strawberry blossom to see if it 
will not suddenly bring out a secret flag 
and burst forth into a Maid of Orleans ; 
and she looks carefully at every mole in 
the fields, to discover whether it wears 
a seal-ring on the little finger, and, like 
an exiled Wasa, is seeking its kingdom 
among the mouse-holes.” 

“ Don’t tease so,” said his mother, re- 
provingly. “It is true that there is some- 
thing beautiful in such a deep friendship 
as Paula longs for. I have experienced it 
myself, and the pleasantest memories of 
my life belong to that time.” 

“ Oh, tell us about your friend Lili, 
mamma ! ” pleaded Paula, who had already 
heard the story several times, and consid- 


All Six, 85 

ered this an ideal friendship. Lili joined 
in the petition with greater urgency, be- 
cause she knew nothing of this friend 
whose name she bore. 

“ Really, mamma, am I named for this 
friend ” she asked, to assure herself. 

“Yes,” said her mother. “You all 
know the great factory below us on the 
mountain with a fine dwelling-house near 
it in a great shady garden. That is where 
Lili lived, and I can well remember how 
it was that I first saw her. I was about 
six years old, and was playing in the gar- 
den of the parsonage with my simple 
dolls, which I had seated on the ground 
on flat stones, which I picked up for this 
purpose wherever I could find them ; for I 
had no such doll-houses, with chairs and 
sofas, as you have now. 

“You know that your grandfather was 


86 


U7icle Titus. 


pastor in Tannenberg, and every thing 
was very simple in our house. My play- 
fellows, two children from the neighbor- 
hood, were standing near me as usual, 
looking on without saying a word. 

“ They never showed the active sympa- 
thy which the occasion, in my opinion, 
demanded. They usually only stared, 
whatever I did, which was often very 
irritating to me. 

“ That day, as I was sitting on the 
ground to place my dolls in a circle, a 
lady came into the garden and asked for 
my father. Before I could answer, a child 
who was with her sprang towards me, and 
began to look at every thing carefully. 

“ Behind every flat stone I had set one 
up for a back against which the dolls 
could lean. This so pleased the child 
that she began at once to play with the 


All Six. 


87 


greatest interest; and I was so delighted 
with her, and her floating curls and pretty 
speech, that I entirely forgot every thing 
else, and looked and listened to what my 
dolls said and did, until the strange lady 
asked again for my father. 

“ From that day Lili and I were insepa- 
rable friends, and for me began such a 
beautiful life as I had never dreamed of. 
I shall never forget the glorious, untroub- 
led days which I spent in the beautiful 
house below. I was treated by the loving 
mother and excellent father like an own 
child. Lili’s parents were from North 
Germany. Her father had bought the 
factory through a friend, and here he ex- 
pected to remain. 

“ Lili was their only child ; and when 
they discovered that Lili and I were so 
fond of each other, they frequently asked, 


88 


Uiicle Titus, 


as a special favor, that I should come and 
make them a long visit. I was often there 
for days, and it seemed to me like a long- 
continued festival. 

“ What splendid playthings Lili had ! 
I had never seen such things in my life. 
I remember especially a quantity of plas- 
ter images with which we played for 
whole days. We each had families of 
them, to whose members we gave differ- 
ent names, and with whom we passed 
through varied experiences, sharing in 
their joys and sorrows. 

“ Each time I returned home from my 
visit richly laden with presents, and, not 
long after, another invitation would come 
for me. Later, we had our lessons to- 
gether, partly from my father, and partly 
from the teacher ; and then we began to 
read together, and had our heroes and 


A ll Six, 89 

heroines, who filled our lives as our plas- 
ter families had done before. 

“ My merry Lili, with her flying brown 
locks and laughing eyes, was a creature 
all fire and life, freshness and vivacity. 

^ “And so we passed happy years, with- 
out suspecting that our precious compan- 
ionship could ever end. 

“ Then all at once, when we were eleven 
years old, my father told me — I can still 
remember the very spot in the garden 
where I heard the dreadful words — that 
Mr. Blank, Lili’s father, had given up his 
manufactory, and would return to Ger- 
many. 

“ As nearly^ as I could understand, Mr. 
Blank had been misinformed from the 
outset. The business was not what it 
had been represented, and he had to give 
up the whole thing at a great loss. My 


Uncle Titus. 


90 

father was very sad, and said that great 
wrong had been done, and that Mr. Blank 
had lost every thing. 

“ I was overwhelmed. That I could 
lose Lili, and that she must be poor, were 
two facts which almost crushed me, and, 
for a long time, destroyed the joy of my 
life. 

“ The next day Lili came to take leave 
of me. 

“We wept bitterly, for it seemed to us 
that we could not endure life when we 
were separated. We promised to be al- 
ways true, and to do all that we could to 
meet again ; and at last we sat down and 
made a final poem, — we had made so 
many verses together! We cut our poem 
in two parts, and each one took a half to 
keep as a bond of union between us until 
we should meet and place them together 
again. 


All Six, 


.. 91 

“ Lili departed. For some years we 
corresponded, and her letters were the 
only consolation of my lonely, simple 
country life. When I was sixteen or sev- 
enteen, Lili wrote to me that her father 
had decided to go to America, and she 
would write to me at once when they 
were settled there. I never received 
another letter from her. 

“ Whether her letters were lost, or 
whether the family did not find a perma- 
nent home anywhere, and she did not 
write on that account, or whether she 
thought that our lives were too widely 
separated to keep up any connection, I 
do not know. Perhaps Lili is no longer 
living ; perhaps she did not live long 
after that time: that is quite possible. 

“ For years I have mourned for my first, 
dearest, and never-to-be-forgotten friend to 
whom I owe so much. 


92 


Ujicle Titus, 


“In vain have I tried to get any infor- 
mation regarding her ; I have never been 
able to discover a trace of her.” 

Mrs. Birkenfeld was silent, and a 
mournful expression came into her face. 
The children were quite depressed by the 
end of the story ; and one after the other 
said, sighing, “ What a pity ! What a 
pity!” 

Little Hunne, however, who had lis- 
tened attentively, pressed close to his 
mother, and said, tenderly, “ Don’t be sad, 
mamma. When I am big, I will go to 
America and get Lili for you.” 

Rolf and Wili had also come near to 
listen ; and the former, after looking 
thoughtfully at a bit of paper he held, 
said, — 

“ Mamma, was the poem that you cut 
in two parts written on a narrow strip of 
paper, and did it look like a rebus?” 


All Six, 


93 


“ Perhaps, Rolf ; I should think it might. 
Why do you ask ? ” 

“ See,” said the boy, holding up his 
paper strip. “ Do you think this could 
be half?” 

“ Rolf ! really ! ” cried his mother, in 
great excitement, “ I thought the paper 
was lost. I had cherished it for years, 
and then it disappeared, and I believed it 
lost forever. Finally, I only thought of it 
when I told the story of my childish 
friendship. Where did you find it ? ” 
“We found it,” cried Wili and Lili, 
— “we found it in the old Bible. We 
wished to see once more if Eve’s face is 
still scratched,” they explained further. 

“Yes, that is another reminder of my 
Lili,” said their mother, smiling. “She 
did that once in her excitement, when we 
had pictured to ourselves how lovely it 


Uncle Titus. 


94 

would be if we were now in Paradise, and 
she grew so angry with Eve, because she 
had eaten the apple, that she scratched 
and marked her face as a punishment. 

“ But my old rhymes ! I cannot re- 
member what they were, it was so long 
ago. Only think, children, over thirty 
years ! ” And she laid the old strip of 
paper carefully in her work-basket. Then 
she told the children to gather up their 
things and follow her, for it was almost 
supper-time, and their father always ap- 
peared punctually. Every thing was soon 
taken away, and one after another they 
disappeared under the arch, which was 
still standing. 

For a long time Dora had been looking 
through her hole in the hedge at the 
listening company under the apple-tree. 
When they were gone, she drew a deep 


All Six, 


95 


breath, and said, softly, “ Oh, if I could 
only once be over in the garden with 
them ! ” 

At supper Aunt Ninette said, “ At last 
a couple of hours without a deafening 
noise ! If it could continue, it would be 
possible to stay here. What do you 
think, dear Titus ? ” 

Dora waited breathlessly for her uncle’s 
answer. 

“ The air in these rooms is very close, 
and I feel more dizziness than in Carls- 
ruhe,” he said. 

The disappointed child looked down at 
her plate, and had no more appetite. 

Her aunt broke out in complaints. If 
the whole journey should prove entirely 
useless for her husband ! Perhaps they 
ought to have gone away the very first 
day. 


96 


Uncle Titus, 


At last she comforted herself with the 
thought that, if it was quiet the next day, 
they might have the windows open ; and 
Dora clung to this hope, for, as long as 
they remained, there was the possibility 
that she might some time join the chil- 
dren in the flower-garden. 


A Flood, 


97 


CHAPTER V. 

A FLOOD. 

There were certain times when little 
Hunne could not keep still, but wandered 
restlessly about the house. 

Nobody would give him any attention, 
and he was sent from one to another until 
his mother could devote herself to him. 
These uneasy periods always came at the 
most inconvenient times, especially on 
Saturday mornings, when everybody was 
busy ; and such was the case on the next 
day after the occurrences related. 

For a long time Hunne had been wan- 
dering among the sofas and chairs which 
were placed in the corridor during the 


98 Uncle Titus, 

sweeping. The whole house was in con- 
fusion. 

The child first looked for his mother, 
whom he finally found in the attic sorting 
the linen. He was at once sent down. 

“ Go and look for Paula,” his mother 
said. “ Perhaps she is free now.” 

Paula was at the piano. 

“ Go away, Hunne ; I must practise,” 
she said. “ I cannot guess any riddles.” 
For Hunne had caught Rolf’s fever, and 
was always trying to introduce his riddle 
of the nut-cracker, “ There comes Frau- 
lein Hanenwinkel; go to her.” 

“ Fraulein Hanenwinkel, *My first is 
not to drink, but to eat,’ cried the child. 

“ No, Hunne, excuse me,” was the hasty 
answer. “ If you have gone to riddle- 
making, what will happen ? I have no 
time for it. See, there is Mr. Julius get- 
ting off his horse; go to him.” 


A Flood, 


99 


The child went on. 

“Julius, nobody will guess my riddles, 
and Fraulein Hanenwinkel least of all. 
She says that you ought to do it.” 

“Well, what is it, Hunne? Drive on,” 
said Julius. 

“My first is not to drink, but to eat,” 
began Hunne; and then stopped. 

“ Good, Hunne ! go on.” 

“You must finish it yourself: do you 
see, Julius.? Then comes nut-cracker^'* 
explained Hunne. 

“Yes, that is very clear. But come, 
Hunne: since Fraulein Hanenwinkel has 
been so kind to me, I will send her a rid- 
dle. I will say it to you, and you must 
learn it to repeat to her.” 

So Julius taught the little fellow to say 
some lines playing upon the Fraulein’s 
name, and then sent him off. 


lOO 


Uncle Titus, 


Fraulein Hanenwinkel was in the school- 
room with Wili and Lili, who were strug- 
gling with their examples. They were 
distracted beyond all measure to-day, and 
seemed to have something especial in 
mind. Hunne entered. 

“ A riddle, Fraulein Hanenwinkel,” he 
announced, briefly. 

“No; decidedly no. It is no time for 
riddles,” she said, firmly. 

But Hunne had Julius to back him, and 
repeated, — 

“Julius made it, Julius made it.” 

“Well, tell it quickly,” said the Frau- 
lein, relenting a little. 

Very firmly and plainly Hunne repeated 
his riddle. 

FrMein Hanenwinkel was always quick 
at repartee, for she was a native of Bre- 
men ; and she quickly wrote something 


A Flood. 


lOI 


which she gave to the child, saying, 
“There, take this to Mr. Julius, and tell 
him that, since he has used my name so 
beautifully in a riddle, I do not wish to 
be behind him. But do not come again, 
Hunne ; we must not be disturbed at our 
arithmetic.” 

Wili and Lili did not appear to fear 
this possibility at all. While their teacher 
had been writing, they had put their heads 
together, and were evidently concocting 
some grand project. 

This plan seemed to so fill their minds 
that there was no room left for the sim- 
plest reckoning; and Fraulein Hanen- 
winkel finally closed the book with a sigh, 
remarking that if numbers were only so 
many foolish tricks, they would grasp 
them with the greatest eagerness.- This 
observation was not very unjust, for these 


102 


Uncle Titus. 


children had a remarkable capacity for 
such tricks. They had planned some- 
thing of the sort even now. 

As soon as their lessons were done, 
they rushed energetically to the wash- 
house, and held a secret consultation 
among the tubs of various sizes. 

And immediately after dinner they ran 
again to the same place. They were al- 
ways free Saturday afternoons; so they 
had a beautiful time before them. Frau- 
lein Hanenwinkel had to overlook them ; 
but, when she saw them go into the wash- 
house, she supposed it was for the pur- 
pose of washing doll-clothes, as they often 
did, and was delighted that they had 
found occupation which would last for 
several hours. 

But Wili and Lili had greater plans to- 
day than a doll’s wash. They had played 


A Flood, 


103 

many times with the beautiful Noah’s ark 
which their father had brought them, and 
appreciated deeply the wonderful experi- 
ences of life in an ark. It occurred to 
Lili to undertake such a voyage in an 
ark, and Wili heartily approved. They 
had already'thought out all the necessary 
preparations in a most practical way ; for 
Lili always kept her eyes open, and knew 
how every thing was done. 

Among the different wash-tubs was one 
of medium size which they had chosen 
for the ark. There was room in it for the 
animals if they would keep still in their 
places. 

Of course Schnurri and Philomela were 
to be the animals. 

They were both called. Schnurri came 
growling; but Philomela rubbed herself 
against Lili, who took her up, saying. 


Uncle Titus, 


104 

“ You are much better, Philomela, than 
old Schnurri.” 

It was always so. Philomela was so 
named because she always purred so 
melodiously, and Schnurri got his name 
because he always snarled and growled ; 
but there was reason for this. 

They were charged to live peaceably 
together, and not to harm each other; and 
Schnurri obeyed this rule most carefully. 
When they had their dinner out of the 
same dish, he would eat very slowly, as 
she had to take much smaller mouthfuls. 

Philomela, on the contrary, was one 
moment very friendly and tender towards 
Schnurri, especially if any one was near; 
and then, all at once, she would raise her 
paw and box his ears. Then Schnurri 
snarled ; and, as this happened very often, 
he kept on snarling until the name was 


A Flood, 


105 

fastened upon him, most ufijustly, for he 
was by nature amiable and peaceful. 

But water must be procured for a voy- 
age in an ark. Lili knew that the water 
for washing was brought from the spring 
near the house in a long wooden tube, 
one end of which was placed in the tub 
that was to be filled. She thought that, 
if it were allowed to flow over the floor 
instead of into the tub, there would be 
enough to float the ark after a little time. 

Every thing was thought out ; but how 
could they get the long tube.? Together 
Wili and Lili planned what would induce 
Battiste and Trina to assist in the under- 
taking. Old Battiste and young Trina 
bore a relation to each other similar to 
that between Schnurri and Philomela. 

Battiste had served in the family for 
long years, and knew how every thing 


io6 Uncle Titus. 

should be managed. The consideration 
in which he was held vexed Trina a little, 
who had come a few years since to take 
the place of an aunt who had grown too 
old for service. When any members of 
the family were present, she was very civil 
to Battiste; but, when they were alone, 
she liked to annoy him. 

The children had noticed this state of 
things long ago, and had often used it tp 
their own advantage. 

Wili and Lili preferred to ask Trina, 
who was more apt to agree to any thing 
new and unusual; but the thing which 
they wished was in Battiste’s charge. So 
Lili decided to seek his assistance, while 
Wili guarded the dog and cat. Battiste 
was in the barn looking over seeds. 

Lili placed herself in front of him with 
- her hands behind her, as her papa stood 
when he was talking on business. 


A Flood, 


107 


“ Battiste,” she began, very decidedly, 
“ where is the tube which is used to bring 
water from the spring to the tub ? ” 

Battiste looked at her thoughtfully, and 
asked, — 

“ Has your mamma sent you ? ** 

“ No ; I come for myself.” 

“ So ! Then I don’t know where the 
spout is,” was the reply. 

“ But, Battiste,” explained Lili, “ I only 
wish a little water from the spring. Why 
can’t I have it } ” 

“ I know the game,” growled Battiste. 
“ Now a little fire, and now a little water, 
and always some mischief. You will get 
nothing from me, I say, — nothing from 
me.” 

“ It is all the same to me,” declared 
Lili, going straight to the kitchen, where 
Trina was scrubbing. 


io8 Uncle Titus. 

“Trina,” said Lili, coaxingly, “come 
and give us the water-spout. Battiste 
will not do any thing for us. You will 
give it to us, will you not } ” 

“Yes, of course,” said Trina. “You 
would certainly be allowed to have a little 
water ; but wait until the old bear comes 
out, then I will go with you.” 

A while after Battiste came through the 
yard, and went down to the meadow. 

“Come, now,” said Trina, running to- 
wards the wash-house, where she took put 
the spout from its hiding-place, and put it 
in position to fill a small tub ; then she 
explained to Lili that they could push it 
aside when the tub was filled, and replace 
it if they wished: she must go back to 
her work. She departed, and now at last 
the voyage could begin. The end of the 
spout was taken out of the tub, and laid 


A Flood, 


109 


on the floor; and then Lili and Wili got 
into the tub, drawing in Philomela and 
Schnurri after them. It was beautiful in 
the ark. There sat Noah and his wife, 
rejoicing in their preservation and the 
pleasant sail on the rising water; for a 
tiny brook kept flowing in from the 
spring. The water had already quite cov- 
ered the floor, and now — truly — the ark 
was lifted and began to float! Noah and 
his wife shouted for joy. It was really a 
flood. 

The wash-house was several steps lower 
than the ground ; so there was space for 
considerable water. It rose higher and 
higher, and the children began to be a 
little uneasy. 

“Look, look, Wili!” cried Lili. “We 
cannot get out, and it is getting still 
higher.” 


no 


Uncle Titus, 


Will looked thoughtfully over the edge 
of the tub, and said, — 

“ If it keeps on rising, we must drown.’* 
And still it rose higher and higher. 
Schnurri began to be restless, and 
sprang up, almost tipping the tub over. 
The water was so deep that the children 
could not jump out, and they both began 
to cry in terror, “We are drowning, we 
are drowning ! Mamma, mamma ! Bat- 
tiste ! Trina! We are drowning ! ” And 
they uttered the most terrible screams 
and cries. Schnurri barked and howled 
in sympathy ; but Philomela bit and 
scratched and mewed furiously, for now 
the real character of the two showed it- 
self. Philomela neither wished to get out 
into the water, nor to remain in the tub ; 
and she behaved like a wild creature, 
snarling and biting and scratching. 


A Flood, 


1 1 1 


But when Schnurri saw that his barking 
brought no aid, he gave a great leap into 
the water, swam to the door, shook him- 
self, and ran away. The children screamed 
all the more, for this spring had nearly 
upset the tub. 

Dora had run down to see what was 
the cause of these cries of terror. The 
wash-house was near the hedge ; but she 
could see nothing except a clear stream 
of water flowing from the spring. She 
heard the shout for help, however, and 
hastened back to the house. 

“ Aunt, aunt ! ” she cried, breathless from 
fright. “ Two children are drowning over 
there, do you hear ? Do you hear ? ” 

Her aunt had closed all the windows; 
but the cries pierced through. 

“ Horrors ! what is the matter ? ” cried 
her aunt in fright. “ I hear screams, in- 


1 12 


Uncle Titus, 


deed, but who talks of drowning? Mrs. 
Kurd! Mrs. Kurd I Mrs. Kurd!" 

In the meantime the dripping Schnurri 
ran to the place where Battiste was cut- 
ting bean-poles. 

Schnurri sprang upon him, biting his 
clothes, and barking continuously. 

“ Something has happened," said Bat- 
tiste, taking one of the poles on his shoul- 
der, and following the dog, who sprang 
towards the wash-house. Here he found 
the whole family already assembled, — the 
mother, Julius, Paula, Rolf, Hunne, and, 
last of all, Trina; for the noise had pene- 
trated to every corner of the house and 
garden. 

Battiste reached out his long pole to 
the tub. 

“ Take hold of it and cling to it firmly," 
he called to the children ; and so drew the 


A Flood, 


113 

ark and its occupants to dry land. Will 
and Lili were white with fear, and were 
unable to speak. Their mother led them 
to a seat under the apple-tree to recover 
themselves; and Julius followed, saying 
reprovingly, “ Oh, you terrible twins, you 
will be the death of us with your mis- 
chief!" 

Battiste, in the meantime, had waded 
into the water, and opened all the places 
where it could- escape. 

To Trina, who was standing near, he 
said, — 

“ You have no more judgment than the 
seven-year-olds, — that is why this hap- 
pened ; " for he had discovered at once 
who had got the spout. 

Trina did not answer this charge at the 
moment; but she secretly prepared to 
strike, like Philomela. 


Uncle Titus, 


114 

When all was quiet again, Philomela 
came up to Lili, purring and rubbing 
against her; but Lili pushed her away 
and stroked Schnurri, who was lying on 
the ground; and Wili whispered that they 
would give Schnurri all the supper, for 
now they had learned the true character 
of the two. 

Hunne had been looking on attentively, 
and now went to Julius, who was walking 
up and down on the gravel walk. 

“Julius,” he said, earnestly, “tell me, 
how could the terrible twins be the death 
of us ? ” 

“ In many ways, Hunne. They have 
already tried fire and water ; now perhaps 
they will tear the house down over our 
heads in a fit of excitement; then we 
shall lie underneath, and that will be the 
end of us.” 


A Flood, 


115 

“ Couldn’t 'we jump away quickly ? ” 
asked Hunne. 

“ Suppose the great thought should 
strike them in the middle of the night, 
Hunne?” 

“ Then wake me,” begged the child. 

Mrs. Kurd had responded to the loud 
calls of Aunt Ninette at the same moment 
that Battiste drew the ark to land ; and 
the cries were suddenly stilled. 

“ Did you hear it, Mrs. Kurd ? It was 
frightful ; but now it is quiet. I wonder 
if they were rescued ? ” 

“ Oh, yes, indeed ! ” said Mrs. Kurd, 
soothingly. “ It was only the little ones 
who screamed a little ; but that did not 
mean any danger.” 

“ But such a cry from children ! I am 
trembling in every limb. How has your 
uncle borne it ? This is enough, Mrs. 


Uncle Titus, 


1 16 

Kurd ; now we must move. This is the 
last.” 

With that Aunt Ninette went into her 
husband’s room to see how he had taken 
the affair. 

Mr. Titus did not hear his wife as she 
entered, for he had stuffed. his ears full of 
cotton wool. 

He had done this at the first outbreak 
of noise, and then continued his writing 
quietly. 

“ Dear me ! that is fearfully unhealthy, 
and heats your head,” complained his 
wife, when she discovered the cause of 
his indifference. She quickly pulled out 
the cotton, and then disclosed to him her 
plan of consulting with the pastor, on the 
next day after service, as to where they 
could go ; for she had firmly decided not 
to remain here. 


A Flood, 


117 

Mr. Titus agreed to every thing, and 
she went back to her room. Dora was 
standing in the passage waiting for her. 

“ Are we really going away, aunt ? ” she 
asked, anxiously. 

“ Most certainly,” responded her aunt. 
“We leave this house on Monday.” 

The girl passed into her little room 
and sat down sorrowfully on the bed. It 
seemed hard to her that she must go 
away without once being in the beautiful 
garden with the children ; and then she 
thought how she must go back to Carls- 
ruhe and sew on her shirts, and never, 
never come back to see this merry life. 

In her grief Dora’s eyes were cast 
down, and she did not see that her five 
stars were beaming cheerfully upon her, 
as if calling, “ Dora, Dora ! Have you 
entirely forgotten your father’s motto ? ” 


ii8 


U7icle Titus, 


CHAPTER VI. 

A TERRIBLE DEED. 

Sunday dawned sunny and beautiful. 

All was quiet and lovely in the garden ; 
there was no sound but the occasional 
dropping of an apple. 

Mr. and Mrs. Birkenfeld had gone to 
church with Paula and Fraulein Hanen- 
winkel. 

Julius and Hunne were in the sitting- 
room with a great dish of hazel-nuts, dis- 
cussing the different ways in which the 
nut-cracker performed its task. 

After the experience which Wili and 
Lili had had, they were contented with 
the ark with the wooden men and women, 


A Terrible Deed, 1 1 9 

and were now in the school-room, where 
they could cover the great table with their 
playthings. 

Rolf had fled into the farthest corner 
of the garden, where there was a solitary 
summer-house, in order to be undisturbed 
in his readiilg. 

After the flood, which had to take place 
this time without water, and when now 
the dove had returned with the olive 
branch, new plans began to form them- 
selves in Lili’s head. 

“ Wili, let us go down,” she proposed. 
“ Rolf put his bow in the entry last even- 
ing; let us go and look at it.” 

Wili was quite ready, and the two hast- 
ened down the stairs. Lili knew the very 
corner where the bow had been placed. 

Yes, there it was; and near by lay the 
quiver and two feathered arrows. 


120 


Uncle Titus, 


“See, how nicely it goes,” cried Lili. 
“ You draw back this cord so, and lay the 
arrow so, and then you let go the string, 
and out goes the arrow quick as a wink. 
I have watched Rolf do it. Shall we try 
it, Wili ” 

“ We are not allowed to shoot with it. 
You know, Lili, papa said so,” replied 
Wili. 

“ I don’t mean to shoot, only to try it,” 
explained Lili, — “only to see how it is 
done.” 

This pleased Wili. 

“ But where can we try that ? There 
is no room here in the entry.” 

“ No, no, I know where, — in the garden. 
Come,” and Lili ran out with the quiver, 
Wili following with the bow to an open 
space near the hedge. 

“ Here,” said Lili. “ Come, now let us 
both see how it goes.” 


A Terrible Deed, 


I2I 


Wili came up with the bow. They 
placed the arrow, and drew the string, 
which sprang into its place. Lili shouted 
for joy at their success. 

“ Now you must raise the bow,” she ex- 
plained, “so, and the arrow comes there, 
Wili : do you see And then you draw 
back on this thing, then you will see how 
nicely it goes. Just try it ! ” 

Wili tried it. He pulled back; ah — 
the arrow whizzed through the hedge, 
and at the same moment a cry of pain 
sounded from the other side ; then all was 
still. 

The children looked at each other in 
alarm. 

“ Do you think it was a rabbit that 
moaned so ? ” asked Wili. 

“ Or do you suppose it could be a 
hen.?” asked Lili, in response. 


122 


Uncle Titus. 


But they both had a very bad con- 
science, and a great fear in their hearts ; 
for they knew that they had disobeyed in 
shooting with the bow, and both felt that 
the cry was that of a child, while each 
hoped that the other would think that it 
might be an animal. Without saying a 
word they carried the bow back to its 
place ; but now a new anxiety was felt, — 
one arrow was lacking in the quiver. If 
Rolf discovered this loss! 

They heard the people coming home 
from church ; so they could not go and 
look for it, or their disobedience would be 
found out at once. Rolf did not know 
that they had done it, but if he should 
ask them I 

They could see no way out of it: they' 
had so involved themselves that they felt 
that they should not dare to speak the 


A Terrible Deed, 123 

truth when questions were asked about 
the arrow. 

Weighed down by the sense of guilt, 
Wili and Lili crept back to the school- 
room, and sat there in silence and without 
stirring until they were called to dinner. 

They stole into the room with no 
cheerful anticipation of the Sunday din- 
ner, and seated themselves with down- 
cast eyes.' 

They choked over their soup as if there 
had been pebble-stories in it, which one 
could master only with the greatest effort. 
Neither of them looked up during the 
meal, and, when their father spoke to 
them, they hardly answered a word. 

“ What is the matter with them ? ” he 
asked, finally, for he knew very well that 
yesterday’s performance was not the cause 
of these low spirits : the twins’ penitence 


124 


Uncle Titus, 


never lasted as long as this. There was 
no answer. 

The two children sat looking into their 
plates as if nailed to their seats. Their 
mother shook her head thoughtfully, and 
little Hunne kept a watchful eye on them, 
for he had noticed from the first that 
something was wrong. 

The pudding was now brought on with 
the good sauce, and each one was helped 
to a generous slice. 

Just then the father suddenly rose. 

“ What is that ? Is there any very sick 
person in the next house ? The doctor is 
coming at full speed, as if there were 
great danger.” 

“ I do not know that any one is ill,” re- 
plied his wife. “ The widow has rented 
her rooms to some strangers ; perhaps it 
is one of them.” 


A Terrible Deed. 125 

The twins turned red and then white 
in their fright. A threatening voice 
within them said, “ Now it is coming ! 
Now it is coming!” They could not lift 
a finger in their terror. The beautiful 
pieces of pudding were untouched, al- 
though there were the most inviting 
raisins in them. 

Hunne, too, the champion pudding- 
eater, left his piece untouched ; and all at 
once he jumped down -from his seat like a 
madman, crying, “ Mamma ! papa ! Come, 
it is going to tumble down I ” And he 
almost tore Julius from his seat, as he ran 
towards the door. 

They heard him crying outside in the 
greatest excitement, — 

“ Come, come ; it is tumbling down I 
Julius said so.” 

“ A bad spirit must have got into the 


126 


Uncle Titus, 


children,” said the father, in astonishment. 
“ The twins look as if they were sitting 
on martyrs’ benches, and Hunne behaves 
like a crazy creature.” 

Julius burst out into peals of laughter; 
for now it was clear to him that Hunne 
supposed that the quiet demeanor of the 
twins was due to the fact that they had 
secretly begun their work of destruction, 
and that the house would soon fall over 
the heads of the assembled family. 

Julius explained this with repeated 
bursts of laughter. 

But in vain did the mother try to call 
the youngster in with soothing words. 
He ran about by the door,, crying that 
they must all come out quickly, until Mr. 
Birkenfeld gave orders to have the door 
closed, and the meal ended in quiet. 
Then they all went out to the garden, 


A Terrible Deed, 127 

where Hunne joined them. When he 
saw them all safe under the apple-tree, he 
said, sighing, “ If only some one would 
bring out my pudding before it falls 
down ! ” 

His mother tried to make him see how 
foolish both Julius and he had been: the 
former to tell such a thoughtless story^ 
and he to believe it. She showed him 
how impossible it was that two such chil- 
dren could pull down a great stone house ; 
but all thoughts of pulling down a house 
were soon entirely driven from Hunne’s 
mind by other occurrences. 

Dora had been standing at the hedge, 
waiting for the children to come into the 
garden, just as Wili and Lili appeared. 
With breathless interest she had watched 
the progress of their undertaking. The 
arrow flew straight against her bare arm. 


128 


Uncle Titus, 


She groaned in her pain ; but she forgot 
pain in her fright, as the blood streamed 
over her arm and hand and dress. Her 
first thought was, “ How fearfully aunt 
will fret ! ” and she sought for some 
means of concealing the accident. She 
bound her pocket-handkerchief as firmly 
as she could around the wound, and ran 
to the well before the house to wash off 
the traces of blood. 

But it ran out under the bandage. She 
was already covered from head to foot 
with spots of blood. 

Then she heard a call. “ Dora, Dora ! ” 

It was her aunt. It must come ; Dora 
must answer. 

Trembling she went up the stairs, hold- 
ing out the wounded arm, from which 
blood was still dropping. 

Her light Sunday gown was covered 


A Terrible Deed, 


129 


with great spots, and there were streaks 
of blood on her face ; for, in her eagerness 
to wash it off, Dora had spread it all over 
her. 

“ Mercy ! ” cried her aunt, as she saw 
her. “ Dora, what is the matter with 
you } Speak ! did you fall ? How you 
look! You are as pale as death under 
the streaks of blood. Do speak, for 
heaven’s sake 1 ” 

Dora had wished to speak several times, 
but could not make herself heard. Now 
she said, timidly, — 

“It was an arrow.” 

Now came an outcry. The woman 
wrung her hands, running wildly about, 
and crying, “ An arrow, an arrow I Shot ! 
shot in the arm! You will be lame. 
Your arm will be stiff. You will be a 
cripple for your whole life. You can 


130 


Uncle Titus, 


never sew again, much less do any thing 
else. You will come to misery. We 
must all suffer for it. Every misfortune 
comes to us. How shall we live through 
it What can we do when you are lame } ” 

“ O aunt ! ” sobbed Dora. “ Perhaps 
it will not be so bad. Papa always 
said, — 

“ ‘ God stays and rules among us^ 

And guideth all things welll ** 

“Yes, that is very true; but if you are 
lame, you are lame,” complained Aunt 
Ninette: “that is a desperate certainty. 
But come, go — no, come here to the 
water. Where is Mrs. Kurd ? Some one 
must go at once for the doctor.” 

Dora went to her wash-bowl, while her 
aunt ran for Mrs. Kurd, to impress on her 
the necessity of sending for a physician 


A Terrible Deed, 131 

at once, as no one could tell what the 
danger might be. 

The doctor came as soon as he could. 
He examined the wound, stopped the 
blood, and bandaged the arm without say- 
ing a word, although Aunt Ninette made 
various attempts to get an explanation. 
He took his hat and was at the door. 

“ But, doctor, tell me,” began Aunt 
Ninette, — “tell me, will the arm be lame.f^ 
— always stiff .? ” 

“ Let us hope not. I will come again 
to-morrow;” and the doctor was gone. 

“ Let us hope not,” repeated Aunt 
Ninette, in a doubtful tone. “ That is 
the same with a doctor as saying, ‘Yes, of 
course : ’ that I know’ very well. Ah, what 
will become of us .? What shall we do } 
How shall we live through it ? ” 

And she did not cease her fretting un- 
til late in the evening. 


132 


Uncle Titus, 


That night, as Will’s mother went into 
his room, she did not find him, as usual, 
sitting on his bed ready to say his prayers 
after a quiet talk with her. He sat there 
all bent over, and did not look up or 
speak as his mother came near him. 

“ Will, what is the trouble } ” she asked. 
“You have something on your mind. 
Have you done any thing wrong } ” 

Wili uttered an indistinct sound, which 
was not yes and not no. 

“ Come, repeat your evening hymn : 
perhaps it will lighten your heart,” said 
his mother. 

Wili began, — 

‘ The moon above is gleaming. 

Light from the stars is streaming. 

The heaven is clear and bright,’” 

and so on; but his mind was not on it. 


A Terrible Deed, 


133 


He listened for every sound outside, and 
looked fearfully at the door, as if some- 
thing terrible might enter, and showed 
great anxiety in his uneasy glances. 

So he came to the end of his hymn, — 

“ ‘ In mercy. Lord, now hear us ; 

May we, and all those near us, 

Sleep peacefully this night.’ ” 

Then all at once he broke out in loud 
weeping. He clung to his mother, and 
said, with sobs, — 

“ The child can never sleep again, and 
the good God will punish us fearfully.” 

“ What do you mean by that } ” said his 
mother, softly. “ Come, tell me what has 
happened. I knew all day that you had 
done something. What is it } ” 

“We have — we have — shot a child, 
perhaps.” 


134 


Uncle Titus, 


“ Wili, what do you say ? ” cried his 
mother in alarm, who remembered sud- 
denly how the doctor had hastened by 
the house. “But it is not possible! Tell 
me all that happened.” 

So Wili told what he and Lili had 
done, — how they had heard the cry, and 
had run away, and how they would rather 
die than live in such fear. 

^ “ Do you see, Wili, what comes from 

disobedience ? ” said his mother, seriously. 
“ You thought it was nothing to play with 
the bow a little, but your father knew 
the great danger when he forbade you. 
We do not know what has come from 
your disobedience; but we will ask the 
good God to turn your naughty act into 
some good.” 

Wili had never prayed so earnestly as 
he did now, and it did him good to bring 


A Terrible Deed, 


135 


all his fear and anxiety to Him who can 
pardon and help. Now he could look 
into his mother’s eyes, and say good-night 
with a lighter heart. 

Lili was waiting in another room for 
her mother, who said, as she went towards 
the bed, “ Will you pray, Lili ? ” Lili 
began, then she stopped ; then began 
again, only to pause again, and say, — 

“ Mamma, I cannot pray. God is angry 
with me.” 

“ What have you done, Lili, that you 
know that God cannot be pleased with 
you } ” f 

Lili was silent, and picked at the bed- 
clothes ; for it was hard for her to give up. 

“ If God is not pleased with you, I am 
not; and now pleasant sleep, if you can 
have it;” and her mother rose to go. 

“Mamma,” cried Lili, “don’t go. I 
will tell you all.” 


136 


Uncle Titus. 


Mrs. Birkenfeld turned back. 

“We shot with the bow, when we had 
been forbidden, and we hit something 
which moaned, and then we were very 
anxious and afraid, and could not be 
happy again,” explained the child, sadly. 

“ Certainly you could not, and cannot 
now,” said her mother. “ Only think ! be- 
cause you did not obey, a poor child is 
lying over there in great pain, perhaps 
without her mother, for she is a visitor 
here. There she must lie in a strange 
house and suffer the night through.” 

“ I will go over there and stay with 
her,” said Lili, mournfully, beginning to 
cry. “ I cannot sleep either, mamma.” 

“ It must always be so when we have 
done wrong, Lili. I will go over to the 
child, and you must ask God to give you 
an obedient heart, and pray that your act 


A Terrible Deed, 137 

may not cause great suffering to an inno- 
cent person.” 

Trina was at once sent over to ascer- 
tain whether a child had really been hit, 
and how serious the hurt was. 

Mrs. Kurd told her the whole story in 
detail, and what the doctor had said, 
namely, “ Let us hope not,” and that he 
would come again the next day. 

Trina’s report afforded some relief to 
Mrs. Birkenfeld. Her ‘great anxiety had 
been lest the eye had been injured, or lest 
it might be a dangerous wound. 


138 


Uiicle Titus. 


CHAPTER VII. 

A WISH REALIZED. 

The next morning Mrs. Birkenfeld 
went over to the little house. She was 
warmly received ; for Mrs. Kurd had not 
seen her since the strangers had arrived, 
and there was much to tell about them, 
and about yesterday’s occurrence. As 
soon as there came a pause in Mrs. Kurd’s 
tale, Mrs. Birkenfeld asked to speak with 
the strange lady, and to see the child who 
had been hurt. 

Mrs. Ehrenreich soon appeared with 
her niece, who had her arm bandaged, 
and looked very pale and delicate. 

Mrs. Birkenfeld expressed her deep son 


A Wish Realized, 


139 


row at the accident, and inquired most 
kindly how they all were. Aunt Ninette 
at once proceeded to speak of her hus- 
band’s health, — of how necessary the 
fresh air was to him, and how they had 
come here to find perfect quiet ; but that 
he had been obliged to sit with closed 
windows, because he could not bear a 
sound when he was writing ; and so she 
feared that, instead of being cured, he 
would grow worse. 

“ I am extremely sorry if Mr. Ehren- 
reich is disturbed by the children’s noise,” 
said Mrs. Birkenfeld, who understood 
every thing at once. “ If he does not go 
out, he ought to have an especially airy 
place for his work. I have just thought 
that down in our garden, away from the 
house and noise, is a pretty summer-house, 
with a table and arm-chairs. Mr. Ehren- 


Uncle Titus, 


140 

reich must have that for his study, and I 
will instruct the children never to go there 
or near to it.” 

This proposition pleased Aunt Ninette 
very much. She was very glad to tell 
her husband, and accepted the offer with 
thanks. 

“ And you, dear child,” said Mrs. Birk- 
enfeld, turning to Dora, “ with your aunt’s 
permission, must come over to our house 
to-day, and every day, to enjoy the garden. 
My children must make amends to you.” 

“ With the children in the beautiful 
garden over there } ” asked Dora, who 
could hardly believe it ; and such a look 
of joy darted into her eyes that her aunt 
was astonished, for she had never seen it 
before. And it so touched Mrs. Birken- 
feld’s heart that the tears came into her 
eyes. She felt strangely drawn to the 
child, she could not tell why. 


A Wish Realized, 141 

It was arranged that Dora should join 
them in the garden directly after dinner, 
and stay until evening. 

Aunt Ninette immediately went to her 
husband’s room, and told him about the 
secluded summer-house. 

Uncle Titus was pleased with the idea; 
for he began to feel the need of air, and 
he could not decide to lose precious time 
by walking : he had never done that. 
The offer was most timely, and he pro- 
posed to inspect the summer-house at 
once. 

They walked entirely around the gar- 
den on the outside in order not to meet 
any one. Through a little gate at the 
back they came to the lonely place which 
Mrs. Birkenfeld had described. 

Two old nut-trees stood near the house, 
and a grape-vine with thick foliage; and 


142 


Uncle Titus, 


behind was the green meadow. It was 
perfectly still. 

Uncle Titus had brought out a couple 
of great books, for he intended to remain 
if it pleased him. Aunt Ninette carried 
paper and ink, and Dora came behind 
with a wax-candle. 

The place did please Mr. Titus. He 
seated himself at the table, drew in long 
breaths of the good air which came in 
through the windows and open door, and 
rubbed his hands in satisfaction. Then 
he began to write; and Aunt Ninette went 
back to the house with Dora, leaving him 
alone. 

In the mean time the report of the 
twins’ escapade had spread through the 
whole house. Rolf came home from his 
lessons and looked for his bow. One of 
the arrows was missing. Full of wrath, 


A Wish Realized. 143 

he rushed into the house to find out who 
had taken it. This was not very difficult ; 
for the twins were so penitent that they 
owned it at once, and also told Rolf of 
their fear on account of the groan they 
had heard, and that their mother had 
gone over to see who was hurt. Then 
they went to show him where the arrow 
would probably be; and, sure enough, 
there it was on the ground. Rolf’s spirits 
were restored by the recovery, and he ran 
at once to Paula and Julius, crying, “Do 
you know, they have shot a child } ” 

And so it happened that all six, with 
Fraulein Hanenwinkel, were standing on 
the steps awaiting their mother’s return 
with great anxiety. She had hardly come 
in sight when Hunne called, “ Where did 
it go?” 

And then a medley of voices shouted, 


144 


Uncle Titus, 


“ Is it a child ? ” “ Is it a boy ? ” “ How 

large is the child ? ” “ What is the name ? ” 

“ At least, come into the house,” said 
their mother ; and, when they were quiet, 
she told them about the pale, delicate girl, 
whose arm was bandaged so tightly that 
she could hardly move it ; that she was 
about Paula’s size, and probably of the 
same age ; that she was very pleasant and 
well-bred ; that her name was Dora ; and 
that she was to come into their garden 
after dinner, when they could get ac- 
quainted with her. Every one was greatly 
interested, and began to speculate in re- 
gard to the appearance and manners of 
the child. Paula stood in quiet ecstasy, 
and said, — 

“ Oh, oh ! If she is so good and so 
nice, and at the same time exactly my age, 
— oh, mamma, how glad I am!” 


A Wish Realized, 


145 


And secretly she thought of a great 
abiding friendship, and could hardly wait 
for the afternoon to come. Rolf thought 
that Dora would be of just the right age 
to guess his riddles, and he wished to 
make friends with her at once. 

The twins had the feeling that Dora 
would belong entirely to them, because 
they had injured her; and they found it a 
fine idea to have a new playfellow, for a 
third was often necessary to the carrying 
out of their plans, and Paula could never 
be induced to join them. Hunne said, 
joyfully, “ I am glad that Dora is coming ; 
for I can go to her when there is nobody 
else, and when all the chairs are upside 
down.” For Saturday morning always 
seemed in Hunne’s eyes an uncomfortable 
time when he never knew what to do with 
himself. And Julius said, “ Hunne, I wish 


146 Uncle Titus, 

to have some share in Dora, too: what 
can I have ? ” 

“Well, Jule,” said Hunne, after some 
reflection, “ she can help you pull off your 
riding-boots. There were not enough of 
us the last time.” 

“All right,” replied Julius, contentedly. 

All this time Dora was standing in the 
next house trembling with expectation. 
One moment she did not know what to 
do for joy that she was at last to go into 
the garden, where the flowers were so 
pretty, and the children so merry; and 
the next moment she was afraid. She 
had watched these children until she knew 
them. Each one had a special interest for 
her ; but they did not know her, a stran- 
ger, and — this feeling oppressed her 
greatly — she was so ignorant and awk- 
ward, and they knew so much, and could 
do so many things, — that she had seen. 


A Wish Realized, 147 

Would they not despise her, and not 
wish to have any thing more to do with 
her? These thoughts kept passing 
through Dora’s mind as she tried to eat 
her dinner, until her aunt said, “You may 
go now, Dora.” 

Dora put on her hat and set out. She 
went through the front gate, into the 
house, and through the long entry to the 
door leading to the garden. 

She stepped out and stood in sight of 
the whole family. *Mr. Birkenfeld and his 
wife were sitting under the apple-tree, 
with all six children around them. Dora 
had not expected to see any one but the 
children, and stood looking timidly at the 
company, when little Hunne, who had 
long been waiting for her, jumped down 
from his seat, and said, “ Come, Dora ; 
there is room enough on my chair, — 


148 Uncle Titus, 

come, come ! ” He took her hand, and 
tried to draw her along with him. The 
other children now ran to her, and greeted 
her as if she were an old friend of the 
family; and so, without noticing it, she 
was led up to their father and mother, 
who welcomed her so kindly that all her 
shyness disappeared, and she was soon 
sitting in the family circle as if she be- 
longed there. The children pressed closer 
and closer to her, and each one had some- 
thing especial to say to her. Paula spoke 
little ; but she watched her constantly, as 
if making silent observations. 

Wili and Lili stood as near to Dora’s 
seat as they could, and Hunne kept a firm 
hold of her, that she might not escape 
from him. 

“ If you squeeze Dora to death this 
time, she cannot come again,” said Julius, 


A Wish Realized, 


149 


who sat stretched out in his garden-chair. 
“ Do give her room to breathe.” 

“How old are you, Dora? Not much 
older than I am, are you ? ” asked Dili, 
eagerly. 

“ I am just twelve years old,” answered 
Dora. 

“ Oh, what a pity ! Then you are as 
old as Paula,” lamented Dili, who had 
hoped Dora would belong especially to 
her. 

“No, no,” interrupted Rolf; “Dora is 
nearer to me. If she is twelve, she is 
nearer my age than Paula’s.” Rolf con- 
sidered this a very favorable circumstance 
for his plan. “ Are you good at guessing 
riddles ? ” 

“Yes, yes; I have made a riddle too,” 
interposed Hunne. “Just guess, Dora: 

‘ My first you can eat, but ’ ” — 


Uncle Titus, 


150 

“Come, Hunne, don’t bring in your 
horrible riddle, which is no riddle at all,” 
broke in Rolf, indignantly. “ But, listen, 
Dora: ‘My first tastes’” — 

But Rolf did not proceed far with his 
riddle. Dili caught Dora’s hand and 
pulled her away, saying, impetuously, 
“ Come, Dora, come ! I will play every 
thing for you.” For Dora had asked Dili 
if she played the piano. 

“ Don’t be displeased, Rolf,” said Dora, 
turning to him. “ I could not guess your 
riddles, and it would be very tiresome for 
you.” 

“Won’t you try it sometime?” asked 
Rolf, somewhat disappointed. 

“Yes, if you wish, I will try afterwards,” 
called Dora from the house, where Dili 
had dragged her by this time. Hunne 
was drawn along too, for he would not 


A Wish Realized, 15 1 

leave Dora. “And mine, too, Dora; mine 
too ! ” he cried. And she promised to try 
his. 

They had now reached the piano, and 
Wili joined them. The twins had been 
taking lessons from Fraulein Hanenwinkel 
for a year. 

Their parents had a three-fold object in 
this. They thought it would be a source 
of pleasure to the children ; the music 
might have a softening influence upon 
them ; and, in any . case, they could not 
do any mischief during their lessons and 
the necessary practice. 

Lili was now reminded of the stand- 
point from which she herself viewed the 
thing. 

“ Do you know, Dora,” she said, “ that 
it is terribly tiresome to . play the piano 
If one must practise it is enough to kill 
one, isn’t it, Wili 1 ” 


152 


Uncle Titus, 


Wili assented. 

“ Oh, no, Lili ! how can you talk so ? ” 
said Dora, looking at the piano longingly. 
“ If I could only sit there and play as you 
can, it would be my greatest joy.” 

“ Do you think so ? ” asked Lili, in as- 
tonishment, looking thoughtfully at Dora, 
whose longing look impressed her. She 
opened the piano quickly, and began to 
play her little song. Dora sat near drink- 
ing in the tones, and looking as if Lili 
were giving her the finest treat. Lili saw 
this, and was inspired to do her best. 

Wili wished to see what effect he could 
produce, and said, “ Lili, let me have a 
turn.” But Lili was too much engaged, 
and only began again with new zeal. 

“ Do you know another tune ? ” asked 
Dora. 

“ No ; Fraulein Hanenwinkel will not 


A Wish Realized, 153 

give me one until I play the exercises 
right,” answered Lili. “ But wait till to- 
morrow. I know what I will do now, and 
I know something else. I will give you 
piano lessons so that you can play a song 
too, and then we will learn more; will 
you } ” 

“ Oh, can you, Lili } ” asked Dora ; and 
she looked so overjoyed that Lili made a 
firm resolution to begin the next day. 

“ But my arm, Lili ! ” said Dora, dis- 
couraged. 

But Lili was not to be disturbed in her 
plans. 

“ That will soon be better,” she ex- 
plained ; “ and until then I can learn a 
great deal, and that will be good for you.” 

The great supper-bell now sounded. 
Hunne caught Dora’s hand quickly, and 
explained to her that there was no time to 


154 


Uncle Titus, 


lose, for papa always came very punctually 
to his meals, of which practice Hunne 
heartily approved. The table was laid 
under the apple-tree ; and when Dora 
looked around and found herself in the 
midst of the flowers and friendly faces, it 
seemed to her that she must be dreaming ; 
for it was so much better than she had 
pictured that she could not believe it real. 
She began to fear that she would awake 
and find all over. But the dream did not 
pass ; and the real, tangible things on her 
plate convinced her that she was in the 
midst of life. 

“ Eat your cakes, Dora,” said Hunne. 
“ You will get behind us. See, Julius and 
I have already eaten four. But Julius^ 
and I can do any thing, except pull off 
the riding-boots. But you will help us, 
won’t you } ” 


A Wish Realized. 


155 


“ Hunne, attend to your cakes,” said 
Julius, warningly; and Dora had no time 
to answer, for Mr. Birkenfeld was asking 
her to tell him about her papa, and her 
life in Hamburg and Carlsruhe. 

During all this time Paula had held 
herself aloof ; but after supper she came 
to Dora’s chair, and said, “ Come with me 
for a little while.” Dora followed joy- 
fully, for she had felt drawn towards the 
reserved Paula. Arm in arm they disap- 
peared in the garden ; and when later the 
twins and Hunne and Rolf looked for 
Dora, she was not to be found. Paula 
had taken her to her own room. There 
they sat and talked of many things of 
which they had never before spoken to 
any one; for neither of them had had a 
friend of her own age before. 

A real friendship was established be- 


U7tcle Titus, 


156 

tween them ; and they were so happy in 
each other that they forgot every thing 
else, and did not notice that the stars 
were out, and it was quite dark around 
them, until Paula’s mother came into the 
room. She had at last thought where the 
girls were. Dora sprang up quickly when 
she noticed how late it was, and remem- 
bered that her aunt would be waiting for 
her. The other children were a little dis- 
satisfied that Dora had escaped them so 
long, Rolf especially, who said, “ You 
promised to try my riddle ; will you now ? ” 
But his mother said that Dora must 
come the next day, and they all demanded 
that she should come early and spend the 
day, and the next, and every day while 
she remained there ; for there were so 
many things to do and speak of that they 
must use every moment. Rolf was to 


A Wish Realized, 157 

walk home with her; and, as they went 
through the yard, the stars were so bright 
that Dora stood still, and pointed to the 
sky, saying, “ See, Rolf ! Do you see five 
gleaming stars there? I have known 
them so long! They always look into 
my room in Carlsruhe, and here they are 
again.” 

“ Oh, I know them very well,” said Rolf, 
at once. “ They are on my map. Do 
you know what their names are ? ” 

“ Oh, no ! Do you know the names of 
the stars too? You know so much!” 
said Dora, admiringly. “ I suppose the 
five belong together, and have one name. 
There must be others which belong to- 
gether. I have often thought so, when I 
have seen others. Do you know them 
all ? Oh, if I could learn them from you ! ” 
Rolf was delighted. “ Come,” he said. 


U7icle Titus. 


158 

with zeal, “let us begin at once, and I 
will tell you all of them, even if it takes 
until twelve o’clock.” 

This reminded Dora that it was already 
late. 

“No, no, Rolf,” she said, hastily ; “thank 
you very much, but not to-night. To- 
morrow; will you, to-morrow?” 

“Certainly. To-morrow, then; don’t 
forget ! Good-night.” 

“ Good-night, Rolf,” returned Dora, hast- 
ening into the house, so full of happiness 
that she sprang upon her aunt, and began 
to tell one thing after another with such 
astonishing vivacity that Aunt Ninette 
was alarmed, and said, — 

“ Dora, Dora ! only think ; this excite- 
ment may affect your arm. Go to bed 
now; that is best.” 

The girl obeyed ; but she could not 


A Wish Realized, 159 

sleep. Her heart was too full of joy and 
gratitude. She fell upon her knees and 
thanked God for this happiness which 
had come to her, feeling that she could 
go back to her long days of work, and 
live on the remembrance of this blessed 
time. 


i6o 


Uncle Titus. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

MORE RIDDLES. 

Early the next morning, as Julius 
strode through the corridor with his rid- 
ing-boots and spurs, he heard some one 
practising in the school-room. Fraulein 
Hanenwinkel never began her lessons so 
early, and he opened the door to see who 
was there. 

Lili was sitting at the piano, and Wili 
stood near, eagerly waiting his turn. 

“What is in the wind called Julius. 
“ Is this the beginning of some terrible 
mischief } ” 

“ Be quiet, Julius,” returned Lili seri- 
ously. “We have no time to lose.” 


More Riddles, i6i 

Julius laughed and went on. Down- 
stairs he met Fraulein Hanenwinkel. 

“ What has happened to the twins } ” he 
asked. “ Are they really making an effort 
to be good } ” 

“Such an effort often succeeds better 
at seven years than at seventeen, Mr. 
Julius,” was the short answer. 

Julius laughed again as he passed on. 
His mother was just going out of the 
door, on her way to inquire of the physi- 
cian whether any s'erious results were to 
be feared in Dora’s case, as her aunt had 
apprehended. 

“Do I hear the piano, Julius she 
asked. “ That is something unusual at 
this time.” 

“ I believe the end of the world is com- 
ing,” replied Julius. “Dili is going from 
one finger exercise to another as if she 


i 62 


Uncle Titus. 


could not get enough of such enjoyment ; 
and Will is looking on hungrily, burning 
with desire to succeed her.” 

“ It is remarkable,” observed his mother. 
“ Only yesterday the Fraulein was com- 
plaining to me that Lili had no interest 
in her playing, and could not be made to 
practise.” 

“Just as I said, mamma: something 
dreadful is going to happen.” 

“ Perhaps something good,” responded 
his mother, as she went down the hill. 

She soon had an interview with the 
doctor, who assured her, to her great re- 
lief, that the arm was healing well, and 
that there would be no trouble after a few 
days. 

On her way home she stopped to reas- 
sure Aunt Ninette, and to talk with her 
about the young girl. Then she heard 


More Riddles, 163 

for the first time about Dora’s sewing, 
and that there were important reasons 
why she should learn to work properly. 

Mrs. Birkenfeld felt a real sympathy for 
the child. She begged to have her re- 
leased from work during her visit, and 
offered to have the shirts made by her 
seamstress, while Dora enjoyed the fresh 
air with her children. Mrs. Birkenfeld s 
quiet ways made a great impression on 
Aunt Ninette, and she could not refuse 
her any thing. She forgot to complain, 
and the whole aspect of things seemed 
changed somehow ; nothing looked as 
dark as before. With deep gratitude she 
spoke of how comfortable her husband 
was in the summer-house, where he re- 
mained until late into the night, and then 
could hardly leave it. She had even for- 
gotten the noise so far that she gladly 


164 Uncle Titus, 

accepted an invitation to go often into the 
garden herself. 

Dora had hardly opened her eyes that 
morning when she sprang out of bed, full 
of joyful anticipations of the day. But 
her aunt would not allow her to go too 
early : it was never her way to take peo- 
ple by storm. Not until Mrs. Birkenfeld 
asked for her was she called, and per- 
mitted to go. This time she did not stop 
and look timidly about her. She sprang 
into the corridor, and was instantly wel- 
comed by many voices. Wili and Lili, 
Hunne and Paula, all came to lead her 
into the sitting-room. Julius had returned 
from his ride, and was sitting with feet 
stretched out, as if inviting some one to 
assist him in getting off his boots. Dora 
ran to him, and asked if she might do it. 
“ No, no, Dora,” he said, drawing his feet 


More Riddles, 


165 

back. “ What are you thinking of ” 
And, rising, he offered her his seat very 
politely. But the twins were pulling her, 
and crying, “ Come with us ! come with 
us ! ” And Hunne caught hold of her 
from behind, crying loudly, “ Come with 
me ! come with me ! ” while Paula whis- 
pered to her, “ Go with the twins first, or 
they will never be still. Afterwards I will 
find you, and we will stay together.” 

“Dora,” said Julius, “your only hope 
of a quiet existence in this house is to 
stay with me. If you go with Paula, you 
will become very romantic and airy, and 
lose your appetite. If you stay with Rolf, 
you will become a great, unending riddle.” 

“ She would be that in any case,” re- 
marked Fraulein Hanenwinkel, who was 
passing through the room. 

“ If you turn to Fraulein Hanenwinkel,” 


Uncle Titus. 


1 66 

continued Julius, quickly, in order that 
the latter might have the satisfaction of 
hearing it, “ you will get salt instead of 
preserves. If you attach yourself to the 
twins, you will be torn in pieces; and 
Hunne will make you deaf.” 

In spite of this threatened danger, Dora 
allowed herself to be led away by the 
impetuous twins; and Hunne ran after. 

Lili rushed to the piano and played and 
played. When she had finished her piece 
once, and saw Dora’s approving look, she 
began again. All at once Dora began to 
sing; and Wili, who was waiting his turn 
at the piano, joined her, and Hunne, too, 
so that a glad chorus was heard : — 

“Be joyful in your life 

While yet the lamp glows; 

And, ere it withers, 

Gather the rose.” 


More Riddles, 


167 


Their voices rose higher and higher in 
their zeal, and Hunne shouted enough to 
deafen one. Suddenly Lili turned around 
on the stool. “ But to-morrow, — wait un- 
til to-morrow; then you will learn some- 
thing, Dora,” she cried, her face glowing 
with anticipation ; for she had practised 
so well that she felt that she could with 
right demand half a dozen new songs from 
Fraulein Hanenwinkel. The bell now 
summoned the twins to their lessons, a 
sound which rejoiced Hunne, for he could 
have Dora all to himself until dinner-time. 
He found her so friendly and so sympa- 
thetic, that he resolved never to let her 
leave him ; but he was disappointed, for 
Paula, who had finished her French exer- 
cises, took Dora away with her soon after 
dinner. 

Dora wished for nothing better ; for 


Uncle Titus, 


1 68 

these two understood each other so well 
that they would gladly have talked all 
day, and all night too, of all their plans 
and hopes and fears. They both felt that 
they could never be together long enough, 
and forgot time altogether. 

Not until seven o’clock, when the whole 
family was assembled for supper under 
the apple-tree, did they return to the 
others. 

During the meal Rolf cast meaning 
looks at Dora from time to time, which 
seemed to say, “ Don’t forget that we have 
something to do.” 

He watched the heavens carefully ; and 
when the first star began to gleam through 
the boughs of the apple-tree, he rushed to 
Dora, and said, “Now, Dora, see! just 
look above you 1 ” 

Thereupon he drew her off into the 


More Riddles, 


169 


farthest corner of the garden, in order to 
be undisturbed. He planted himself on 
a suitable spot, and began his instruc- 
tion. 

“See, Dora, there are your five; one 
and two, and then two. Do you see 
them ? ” 

“ Oh, yes ; I know them well, so well ! ” 
replied Dora. 

“ Well, this cluster of stars is called 
Cassiopeia. Now we will look farther. 
But wait a minute, I have just thought of 
a riddle which belongs here. You can 
guess it easily, — will you.?” 

“ I will if I can, but I fear your riddles 
are too difficult for me.” 

“No, no; just listen. I will say it 
slowly. 

“‘My first, I’m sure, if you’ll but test, 

Of all drinks you’ll pronounce the best; 


170 


Uncle Titus. 


Now add the simple letter 
And you’ve a word to qualify; 

My last you often need to know 
When to strange towns you wish to go; 

My whole you only see at night; 

Look up, and it will meet your sight.’ 

“ O Rolf ! I can never guess it. I am 
very stupid, I am sorry to say. It must 
be very tiresome for you to be with me,” 
said Dora, sadly. 

“ No, indeed. It is only because you 
are not accustomed to them,” replied Rolf, 
kindly. “Try again, and you will get it. 
I will give you an easier one : — 

“ ‘ My first is worn, and made of yarn ; 

My second lives in every barn ; 

My third is what all men desire, 

And very few will e’er acquire ; 

My whole’s a famous Greek of old. 

Whose name you often have been told.’ ” 


More Riddles, 


171 

“ I can’t guess that one at all,” said 
Dora. “Don’t waste so much trouble 
on me. I don’t know any thing about 
Greece.” 

“Well, perhaps you know about some 
other country ; ” and, before Dora could 
protest, Rolf had begun to recite, in a 
loud voice, — 

“ ‘ My first you feel whene’er you stand 
In sight of something great and grand; 

And when my second strikes your path. 

You wish the strength of him of Gath; 

My third includes both you and me, 

Of plural number you’ll agree ; 

My whole once sat upon a throne, 

And was the emperor of ’ ” — 

“ Of Rome,” came in a deep bass voice 
from the dark background. 

The children started in fright, but Dora 
laughed the next minute. 


172 


Uncle Titus. 


“ It is Uncle Titus in the summer- 
house. Let us go in to see him.” 

Rolf was very willing. They found 
Uncle Titus leaning against the wall, 
and looking much pleased when he saw 
them. 

Rolf returned his friendly greeting, and 
inquired at once if he had guessed the 
riddle. 

“ It is the Emperor Augustus, is it not, 
my son.^” said Uncle Titus, tapping Rolf 
on the shoulder. 

“Yes, that is it,” replied Rolf, in delight. 
“ Have you guessed the others too 1 ” 

“ Perhaps,” responded Mr. Titus. 
“ Should I be wrong if I said that the 
first was the Milky Way, and the second 
Socrates ? ” 

“ Oh, oh, every one right ! ” cried Rolf, 
highly pleased. “ It is splendid to make 


More Riddles, 


173 


riddles so. I have some others ; might I 
give you one of them, Mr. Ehrenreich ” 
“Yes, my son, why not.J^ ” answered Mr. 
Titus, kindly. “ Out with them ; we will 
try them.” 

Rolf was filled with wonder. “ I will 
give the shortest and the easiest first,” he 
explained : — 

“ ‘ My first and second together bind. 

You’ll have what surely is not mind ; 

My last the Alpine shepherds blow; 

My whole is ever white with snow.’ 

“ Do you know what it is } ” 

“ Possibly, my son, possibly : go on.” 

“ This is a long one,” said Rolf, as he 
began : — 

“‘Upon my first large ships will float; 

Upon my second scarce a boat; 

My third denotes astonishment; 

My fourth a prefix used with spent; 


174 


Uncle Titus, 


My whole a queen of ancient time, 

Who revelled in a sunny clime.’” 

“So, my son, now let us guess them,” 
said Uncle Titus, with a satisfied smile. 
“Number one, Matterhorn; number two, 
Semiramisr 

“ Right ! That is splendid ! I have 
always wished to have my riddles so 
treated,” said Rolf, with satisfaction. 
“ Until now I have had to keep all the 
unguessed riddles : now they are all 
solved, and I can begin new ones.” 

“ I will make you a proposition,” said 
Uncle Titus, as he prepared to go home. 
“ Come here to me every evening, and 
bring me the result of your thinking. 
Who knows but I may give you some- 
thing to guess too } ” 

It was now too late to study the stars ; 
but Rolf and Dora ran back to the house 


More Riddles, 


175 

in great glee at the result of their meet- 
ing, while Mr. Titus went to his lodging 
in a state of quiet satisfaction. He had 
always wished for a son about twelve 
years old, who was past the noisy period, 
and with whom he could converse ration- 
ally about various things. He found all 
this in Rolf, and the boy’s unconcealed 
joy in his companionship awoke a real 
fatherly love in his heart. He felt so 
strangely cheerful as he walked home in 
the starlight, that all at once he began to 
sing,— 

“ ‘ Be joyful in your life, 

While yet the lamp glows ; ’ ” 

for the melody had haunted him ever 
since he heard it in the morning. 

Aunt Ninette was looking out of the 
window, and said, in astonishment, “ Can 
that be Mr. Titus 


176 


Uncle TittiSo 


CHAPTER IX. 

A MISSING LINK SUPPLIED. 

In the Birkenfeld house, as well as in 
the cottage, there was not a person at this 
time who did not’ say, now and then, “ An- 
other week gone so soon ! ” or, “ Another 
Sunday morning here ! ” 

But the days were especially short to 
Dora. They did not seem to have half 
as many hours as they did in Carlsruhe ; 
and every night, when she went to bed, 
she regretted that she must spend so 
much of the precious time in sleep. She 
would have been glad to sit at the piano 
and practise while the others were asleep ; 


A Missing Lmk Supplied, 177 

for her arm was long since healed, and 
the musical instruction had begun. 

Lili was a very zealous teacher. She 
required no finger exercises, and no scales, 
but she gave her the song at once ; and 
Dora could already play “ Be joyful in 
your life ” with her right hand. 

The teacher herself made such prog- 
ress that Fraulein Hanenwinkel was as- 
tonished. Her mother, too, noticed the 
change, and often stopped to listen to her 
with great satisfaction ; for the child had 
much musical talent, and had improved 
wonderfully. 

Paula passed her days in blissful con- 
tent. She had what she had long desired, 
a friend, — and such a friend! She found 
the real friendship much more beautiful 
than her fancy, for she had never imag- 
ined such a being as Dora. So Paula, 


178 


Uncle Titus, 


too, was sorry every night to waste so 
much of the beautiful time in sleep. 

Rolf spent most of his time in compos- 
ing riddles. He was usually seen walking 
up and down in the garden, so buried in 
thought that Hunne was warned to keep 
out of his way, lest he should be walked 
over and thrown down. Mr. Ehrenreich 
waited for him every evening in the sum- 
mer-house, and discovered the most un- 
known names with such facility that Rolf 
was spurred on to fresh exertions. 

He was also led on to new fields of 
study, for Mr. Titus began to make^ rid- 
dles for him in Latin. These were always 
in writing, and were given to papa and 
Julius to work upon, but with no success. 
The former declared that he had forgot- 
ten his Latin, and Julius said he was not 
willing to make such useless exertions 


A Missing Link Supplied, 179 

in vacation : he needed all his strength 
for serious study. But Rolf delved and 
searched in his Latin lexicon, and thought 
and thought until he had dug out the 
meaning, which he brought in triumph to 
his father and Julius, and in the evening 
to Mr. Titus, who showed such joy in the 
right answer that the boy was incited to 
new efforts. He was so eager to under- 
stand and to guess better that he rose 
early in the morning, and went into the 
garden with his lexicon, and studied as if 
he could not get enough of it. 

Little Hunne passed the happiest days; 
for no matter how many demands he made 
upon Dora’s time, she never repulsed him, 
and never ran away from him. 

Mrs. Birkenfeld had persuaded Aunt 
Ninette to allow Dora to be free mornings 
and evenings, and only to work on her 


1 8o Uncle Titus, 

shirts in the afternoon, when the whole 
family was together in the garden. 

In this way Dora discovered that sew- 
ing on shirts could be one of the most 
agreeable occupations ; that it depends 
entirely upon the circumstances under 
which it is done. 

Thus there were many hours in the 
day when Hunne had his new friend to 
himself, and she had made him a new 
riddle, so that he was not always obliged 
to give the nut-cracker. To his un- 
bounded delight, the new riddle achieved 
a great triumph. 

Nobody in the house could solve it, and 
so he was able to give it again and again, 
and no one had a chance to say, “You 
always bring me the same ; ” for nobody 
had found the answer. This was the 
riddle : — 


A Missing Link Supplied. i8i 

“ My first brings tears to every eye ; 

My next, too warm, will make you cry; 

‘ No ’ to my last you oft reply.” 

Everybody had tried it, and in vain. 

“ It must be a music-lesson,” said Frau- 
lein Hanenwinkel. “ Music makes every- 
body weep, — many cry during the lesson, 
and many decline lessons.” 

“Not right, not right!” shouted Hunne. 

“ It is school-room,” asserted Rolf. 

“ Ho, Rolf! Not right, not right!” said 
Hunne, exultantly. 

“ The answer might be childhood,” said 
his mother. “ Every child cries, — some 
about their hoods, and in childhood one 
constantly hears ‘ no.’ ” 

“ Mamma is wrong too ! Mamma is 
wrong,” shouted the child, jumping for 
joy. 

“ It must be leave-taking,” declared his 


i 82 


Uncle Titus. 


father. “We all say no to Dora’s taking 
leave of us.” 

“Not right, papa; not right,” cried 
Hunne, in delight. 

Rolf was greatly distressed that such a 
simple riddle could not be guessed, and 
the fortunate possessor of the secret con- 
tinued to run from one to the other’ cry- 
ing, “ Guess, guess ! ” 

So the days passed. 

“My dear Ninette,” said Uncle Titus 
one morning at breakfast, “ the last week 
of our stay has come. Suppose we post- 
pone it for fourteen days. I feel un- 
commonly well here. My dizziness has 
disappeared altogether, and I have new 
strength in my limbs.” 

“ One can see that, my dear Titus,” 
returned Aunt Ninette, with satisfaction. 
“You look ten years younger than when 
we came here.” 


A Missing Lmk Supplied, 183 

“ And I think that the new mode of 
life agrees with you. I don’t seem to 
hear you complaining any more, dear 
Ninette.” 

“Yes, every thing is so different,” re- 
marked his wife; “and the children’s noise 
does not seem the same when one knows 
the children. I must say that I am glad 
we did not move. I miss the voices when 
I do not hear them, and feel lost when 
there is no noise and shouting in the 
garden.” 

“It is just so with me,” said Uncle 
Titus ; “ and I really rejoice in the even- 
ing to have the boy burst upon me, eager 
to tell what he has accomplished, and 
drinking in every one of my words with 
his eyes. It is a real joy to have such a 
boy.” 

“ My dear Titus, you come home quite 


184 Uncle Titus, 

animated, and are younger than I have 
ever known you. We will stay here as 
long as we can. Even our doctor could 
not have foreseen such results from our 
stay in the country; it is wonderful.” 

Dora ran over to Paula with this news 
in great delight. 

The thought of their near departure 
had been a terrible one to her. How 
could she live away from those so dear to 
her.f^ It seemed to her as if her heart 
must break when the separation came. 

When the news of Dora’s lengthened 
stay spread through the house there was 
great rejoicing, and she was almost hugged 
to death ; for each of the children wished 
to show his joy in that way. 

That night, after the children were in 
bed, Mr. and Mrs. Birkenfeld sat together 
talking over various matters, and among 


A Missing Link Supplied, 185 

others the prolonged stay of their neigh- 
bors. Mrs. Birkenfeld expressed her sat- 
isfaction at this, and ended with the 
words, “ But the day must soon come 
when we shall lose the child. I dread to 
think of it. I cannot tell what a blessing 
this Dora has been in our house ; but it 
is everywhere seen. Every day I discover 
some new trace of her good influence. I 
do not understand why I am so drawn to 
the child, nor why, when I look into her 
eyes, they seem familiar to me, and awaken 
a world of recollections.” 

“Ah, my dear wife, you always think 
that when you love any one,” interposed 
Mr. Birkenfeld. “ I remember well that, 
after you had known me for a time, it 
seemed to you that we had stood in some 
mysterious relation to each other before.” 

“ Be that as it may,” returned Mrs. Birk- 


Uncle Titus, 


1 86 

enfeld, '‘you will not deny what can be 
seen and learned through your senses, 
and that is enough to make us prize Dora 
highly. So many things have changed 
since she came into our house. Paula is 
like a sunbeam : no trace of her accus- 
tomed melancholy; Julius pulls off his 
own riding-boots without disturbing the 
whole house ; Rolf is so zealous for study 
that he does not waste one moment of the 
day ; Lili has developed a degree of dili- 
gence and skill in her practice which no 
one would ever have suspected ; and little 
Hunne is so busy and so happy that it 
does one good to look at him.” 

“ And we have to thank Dora that the 
twins have not disturbed the house by 
some terrible mischief for so long a time,” 
observed Mr. Birkenfeld. 

“ Without doubt,” said his wife, “ in 


A Missing Lmk Supplied. 187 

some way Dora has aroused a great en- 
thusiasm for the piano in Lili, who devotes 
all her energy and thought to that. Wili 
works with her, and so it does not enter 
into their minds to plan any adven- 
tures.” 

“ A wonderful creature, this Dora ! 
What a pity that she is going away ! ” said 
Mr. Birkenfeld, regretfully. 

“ That troubles me,” said his wife ; “ and 
I think of every way in which I could 
manage to prolong her stay.” 

“ No, no,” interrupted her husband ; 
“that will not do. We are not sufficiently 
acquainted with the family. They must 
go. Perhaps we can arrange something 
for another year, when they come again.” 

Mrs. Birkenfeld sighed. She thought 
of the long winter and the uncertainty of 
their ever seeing them again. 


Uncle Titus. 


1 88 

The days went on, and the last week 
had come. Monday was the day fixed for 
the departure. A great festival had been 
planned in honor of the occasion, although 
no one felt in a very festive mood. Rolf 
was very active in the preparations. 

A line of colored lanterns with riddles 
as transparencies was to encircle the sum- 
mer-house in honor of his patron. 

On Saturday Dora came to dinner as 
usual. There seemed to be a general loss 
of appetite ; for, as the mother dipped out 
the soup, from all sides was heard, “A 
little.” “ A very little, please.” “ I would 
rather not have any to-day.” “ Not so 
much for me.” 

“ I should like to know,” remarked their 
father, “ whether this general ‘ no ’ is to be 
attributed to grief at the approaching 
separation, or to the nature of the onion- 
soup.” 


A Missing Lmk Supplied. 189 

“ Onion-soup, onion-soup ; that is the 
answer ! ” cried Rolf, in a tone of triumph ; 
for he could hardly bear the reproach of 
an unguessed riddle given by Hunne. 

It was right. Hunne was much cast 
down, and said, reproachfully, “ Yes, yes, 
papa; if you had not said '‘no' to the 
onion-soup, nobody would ever have 
guessed my riddle. Now it is all out.” 

But Dora, who sat next to the little 
fellow, was always ready to comfort him. 
“ No, no, Hunne,” she whispered to him, 
“ it is not all out. This afternoon I will 
guide your hand, and you shall write your 
riddle in my album, and I will give it to 
many people in Carlsruhe who know 
nothing of it.” 

y That was comforting, and Hunne could 
end his meal in peace. But there was 
a great commotion under the apple-tree 


190 


Uncle Titus. 


afterwards. It was the last day for a 
long, long time, perhaps forever, that Dora 
would sit here with them, as she must 
assist her aunt in the preparations for the 
journey on the next day. 

Paula sat with great tears in her eyes 
and said nothing. Lili had already shown 
her great displeasure by various noisy 
movements. All at once she spoke. 

“ Mamma, I never wish to play the piano 
again when Dora is not here. It will be 
fearfully stupid, and Fraulein Hanenwin- 
kel will say again that I do nothing, and 
I don’t care.” 

“Ah, ah,” sighed Julius. “We are go- 
ing to have dangerous times if life grows 
stupid for the twins again. It is an en- 
tirely unnecessary journey,” he continued, 
with real eagerness. “ It would do Dora 
good to remain here until winter. Her 


A Missing Link Supplied. 191 

uncle and aunt could go back to their 
peaceful home in Carlsruhe without her.” 

His mother said that she would ask for 
a visit the next year, and they must all 
reconcile themselves to the separation for 
the present. 

Hunne, who cared more for the present 
than for the future, kept pulling Dora’s 
apron, and saying, “ Get the book, get the 
book.” 

According to a good old custom, Dora 
had brought over her album, that each of 
her new friends might write something in 
it. 

It was not a new, elegant album, but an 
old book with yellowed leaves, on many 
of which the writing was much faded 
with age. There were a few bunches "of 
faded flowers fastened here and there in 
the book which had belonged to Dora’s 


Uncle Titus, 


192 

mother when she was a child, and all the 
verses were written in a childish hand. 
There were some drawings too. A little 
house and a little man near it, standing 
by a well, attracted Hunne’s attention. 

He took the book and began to turn 
over the leaves. 

“ Aha ! ”• he said, with a knowing air, 
as he drew out a little sheet of paper. 
“ Mamma has that too. It belongs to 
Lili, whom I must find in America.’' 
Julius laughed. 

“ What are you raving about to Dora, 
Hunne ” 

Mrs. Birkenfeld cast a hasty glance in 
that direction, then took the little sheet 
and read it. Tears came to her eyes. 
Memories of days long past, and of that 
child’s face so dear to her, rose before her 
and overpowered her. She was reminded 


A Missmg Lmk Supplied, 193 

of her mother long since dead, of her 
happy childhood, of all the vanished days. 

This little sheet was the half of hers 
which had belonged to her dear friend 
Lili. She put it into her husband’s hand 
and drew the other half out of her note- 
book, where she kept it since its recovery. 
The children looked on eagerly as their 
father laid the two yellow strips together 
and made a sheet of paper of the usual 
size. The two strips were written by the 
same child’s hand; and, when they were 
put together, they had some meaning. 

Mr. Birkenfeld read them aloud, — 


“‘My hand in 
And there I 
Never to 
But stern fate 
Life’s streams 
And we 


yours I lay, 
let it stay, 
take away, 
says not so; 
divided flow, 
apart must go. 


194 


Uncle Titus, 


We place them 
There let them 


This sheet we 
And may it 


Until we 
And, if it 


cut in twain, 
so remain, 
meet again ; 
e’er betide 
side by side, 
aye abide.’” 


Mrs. Birkenfeld took Dora’s hand. 

“ Where did you get this ” she asked. 

“ It is my mother’s album. The paper 
was always in it,” said Dora, in astonish- 
ment. 

“You are my Dili’s child!” cried the 
mother. “ Now I know why the sight of 
you awakened memories of the past.” 
And with deep emotion she folded Dora 
in her arms. 

The children were greatly excited over 
this occurrence ; but, when they saw how 
their mother was moved, they sat silent, 
looking on with great interest. Little 
Hunne, however, broke the silence. 


A Missing Link Supplied, 195 

“ Must I go to America now, mamma ? ” 
he asked, evidently pleased with the pros- 
pect of being able to stay at home; for 
he had been a little uneasy over the idea 
of going to America alone. 

“ No, no; we will all stay here,” said his 
mother. “ Dora is the Lili whom you 
*were to find.” 

“ O mamma ! ” cried Paula, with un- 
usual animation, “ let Dora and me carry 
on what you have begun with Lili ; then 
we can say, — 

“‘And, if it e’er betide 

We place them side by side, 

There let them aye abide.’” 

“ Oh, yes ; and we,” “ And I,” “ And I 
too,” called the twins, and Rolf, and 
Hunne, and Julius in his bass voice, all 
at once. But their father and mother had 


196 U 7 icle Titus, 

disappeared under the trees, where they 
were talking together. 

“ I am quite willing, quite willing,” the 
former repeated several times, as some- 
thing was eagerly proposed to him. 

They separated, and Mrs. Birkenfeld 
went over to the cottage. 

She inquired for Aunt Ninette, and told 
her with great warmth of the pleasant dis- 
covery that she had made, — that Dora 
was the child of her first dear friend, 
whom she had mourned for many years 
and never forgotten. She knew now that 
this friend was dead ; but she wished to 
know something more about her life, and 
also more of Dora s circumstances. Aunt 
Ninette was not able to give her much 
information : she had never known her. 
Her brother had found his wife in 
America, and returned with her to Ham- 


A Missing Link Supplied. 197 

burg, where she died when Dora was an 
infant. 

Then Mrs. Birkenfeld went straight to 
the point. She told Aunt Ninette what 
pleasures she had enjoyed in the house 
of her friend, and how much she owed 
to this family, who had exerted a direct 
influence upon her whole life; and she 
wished to show her gratitude by doing 
something for Dora. 

She would like to take her as her own 
child, if her uncle and aunt would con- 
sent. 

No objection was made. Aunt Ninette 
said quite frankly that Dora had no in- 
heritance, and must soon begin to earn 
her own bread by her needle, as they were 
not able to give her any further advan- 
tages. So they considered it great good 
fortune that the child had found such 
friends, and rejoiced in it. 


Uncle Titus, 


Mrs. Birkenfeld pressed Aunt Ninette’s 
hand warmly, and hastened home to tell 
the good news to the children. 

She found them all waiting eagerly for 
her return. They had noticed that she 
had some plan to carry out, and, suppos- 
ing it to be in regard to making Dora’s 
stay longer, they were impatient to hear 
the decision. 

When they were told that from this 
time Dora would belong to them, and 
would be their sister, they raised a shout 
of joy which reached to the farthest cor- 
ner of the garden. 

Uncle Titus came to the door of the 
summer-house and listened with a benevo- 
lent smile, saying, half aloud, “ It is a pity 
that it must end.” 

At the same time Aunt Ninette was 
standing by the open window, looking 


A Missing Link Supplied, 199 

down into the garden, and listening to the 
continued expressions of joy. “ We shall 
miss it when we do not hear it any more,” 
she murmured. 

Such a spirit of festivity reigned among 
the children that they vied with each other 
in proposing a grander celebration than 
the garden had ever seen before. 

That night, for the last time, Dora en- 
tered her little room. The happy children, 
whom she had watched with such desire, 
were to be her brothers and sisters. The 
beautiful garden was to be hers. She was 
to have a father and mother to surround 
her with loving care, and she was to study 
with the other children, and have music- 
lessons, as Lili had already announced to 
her. 

These thoughts so filled her heart that 
she could hardly contain herself. Her 


200 


Uncle Titus, 


father must certainly look down upon her 
and rejoice with her. She stood at her 
window and looked up to the starry 
heavens. Her five stars were there, and 
reminded her of the time when they had 
seen her as sad and faint-hearted as if she 
knew nothing of a Father in heaven who 
does all things for the best. And Dora 
resolved then never to forget her father’s 
motto, whatever might happen to her, — 

“God stays and rules among us, 

And guideth all things well.” 

Uncle Titus and Aunt Ninette engaged 
lodgings of Mrs. Kurd for the next sum- 
mer. Mr. Titus went even further: he 
requested her never to promise her rooms 
to any one else, for he had been so pleased 
that he wished to be certain of the place 
for all time. 


201 


A Missing Link Supplied. 

On Monday morning the whole Birken- 
feld family gathered about the travelling- 
carriage, and hearty farewells were said. 
Rolf drew Uncle Titus aside, and asked 
timidly if he might now and then send a 
riddle to Carlsruhe. 

Mr. Titus assured him that it would 
give him great pleasure, and he would 
send the solution in good time. 

Sly Hunne, who overheard this conver- 
sation, said at once, “ I will send mine 
too ; for he did not doubt that it would 
increase the joy of Mr. Titus, and he was 
sure that the people of Carlsruhe would 
never guess it, which was a great satisfac- 
tion. 

Dora and Paula returned to the garden 
arm in arm, and sang merrily, — 

“ We ,place them side by side, 

There let them aye abide.” 


N 

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